


Potter's Ravine

by MysticKitten42



Series: Old Magic [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU post-OotP, Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Boys Kissing, Draco Malfoy is Clueless About Muggle Things, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Frottage, Getting Together, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Malfoy Manor, Number Four Privet Drive (Harry Potter), POV Multiple, Picnics, Rule Breaking, Touch-Starved Harry Potter, inclement weather, light Dumbledore Bashing, magical jewelry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25285597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticKitten42/pseuds/MysticKitten42
Summary: Harry is undeniably numb. Still reeling from the sudden death of his godfather, he’s back at the Dursleys and everything seems hopeless. One day bleeds into the next. But, as they say, nature abhors a vacuum…Draco is unimpressed. The Dark Lord and his infernal giant snake have taken over Malfoy Manor and he’s confined to his rooms. He feels like a prisoner and it’s just not right. He’s a Malfoy. Itching for confrontation he decides to go visit Harry Potter.Things don’t go according to plan.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Old Magic [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831858
Comments: 102
Kudos: 1037
Collections: Finished faves





	1. Overdressed for Fishing

**Author's Note:**

> A few points to note for this story:
> 
> 1) Lucius Malfoy did not go to Azkaban at the end of OotP. Voldemort is still pretty cheesed off at him though.  
> 2) Draco knows less about Sirius Black and his relationship with Harry than is implied in OotP.  
> 3) I may have taken some liberties with the geography of Little Whinging
> 
>  _Furtivus_ = Steathy
> 
> ❤ Special thanks to M & M who read this first ❤

If there’s one thing Draco Malfoy didn’t like – and let’s be real, there were many things he didn’t like – it was being told what to do. Malfoys made the rules, they didn’t follow them.

Of course, he didn’t mind making it look as though he _was_ following the rules so long as he actually got to do what it was he wanted. He had been sorted into Slytherin for a reason after all.

The trouble was, with Malfoy Manor having been overrun by the Dark Lord and Death Eaters, there was very little wiggle room to both keep up appearances and do whatever he pleased. His mother insisted he kept to his chambers, aside from when he was dining in her sitting room, of course, and he hadn’t seen his father in months.

Another thing Draco Malfoy didn’t like was being bored. It made him tetchy. He couldn’t wander the grounds – Death Eaters flinging curses, infernal giant snake waiting to pounce – and he was slowly succumbing to cabin fever despite his suite of rooms being rather large. His friends, if you could call them that, had visited but he took no pleasure in their company. Crabbe and Goyle were hangers-on only because their fathers were loyal to Lucius, and Pansy was hoping for something he would never be able (or willing) to give. They all feigned interest in his stories and laughed at all his jokes, even when they weren’t funny. It was all so very boring and he didn’t know how he could possibly make it through the summer. Malfoy Manor no longer felt like it was his. He was simply there, but he didn’t belong.

He scowled as he buttered his toast.

“Don’t frown darling, you’ll get lines,” his mother mused from the end of the table. She waited for Draco’s acquiescent nod before she nodded in approval herself and then returned to her business of organizing their social calendar. It was important to keep up appearances. Draco knew this well; he’d learned from the best. They needed to be seen at all the high society events expected of their pureblood status, maintain their family image and distract from their ties to the Dark Lord.

Something had to be done, Draco decided. He couldn’t endure his current circumstances indefinitely. It was unbecoming of him, and his mother didn’t want him to get frown lines. He wasn’t supposed to wander the Manor but no one had said anything specifically to the contrary about him leaving altogether.

But where to go?

Suddenly an idea hit him. It was a brilliant idea.

Draco was going to go and visit Harry Potter. He itched for a fight and who better to give it to him? He would never admit this aloud but truth be told he missed trading barbs and hexes with the Boy Wonder. He missed the way his lip felt when it curled into his trademark sneer, the way the insults rolled off his tongue and were quickly – albeit ineloquently – matched by Potter. But what the boy lacked in articulation he made up for with fire and that made all the difference.

Draco had never seen Potter’s Muggle home but he was sure it would be substandard and that would certainly lead to some choice insults. Would they get into a fistfight? Punching Potter sounded divine. There was something about the pain, the thrill of connecting a punch, fist to face, that made him feel alive.

Draco felt fire in his belly and had a new spring in his step. This summer was looking up already.

***

Harry knew he wasn’t very good with his feelings. He knew this because Hermione had told him so more times than he cared to admit. But, he had enough self-awareness to realize that he shouldbe feeling _something_ , even if he didn’t know what that something was. The problem was he didn’t feel much of anything anymore.

Maybe it wasn’t a problem?

He was back with the Dursleys. Again. He shouldn’t be, didn’t want to be, but Sirius was dead and that was that. End of story. There would be no more fantasy of spending his holidays with someone who actually wanted him there.

The Dursleys couldn’t care less that Harry’s godfather had died – _one less freak in the world, good riddance!_ – apart from the fact that they could have been rid of Harry once and for all. They had been sure to make their feelings clear; Sirius’ death was not a tragedy but an inconvenience.

Each day was the same. Harry slept fitfully and then would awaken very early so he could complete his chores without interaction. Most days he succeeded. Some days he did not. He cleaned the house, cooked their food – only sparing a few mouthfuls for himself, any more and they would notice – and worked in the garden. After he had completed his chores he would make himself scarce.

At the end of the Magnolia Road, on the other side of the park with the playground that Dudley and his goons liked to vandalise, there was a ravine. It was quiet and peaceful and had quickly become Harry’s salvation. Nobody seemed to go there and if he didn’t know any better Harry would have suspected it had a Notice-Me-Not Charm on it. Not even Dudley would follow Harry into the ravine, but that had less to do with magic and more to do with Dudley being allergic to exercise.

Harry slumped down on the river bank at his favorite fishing spot. The water gurgled over the rocks and rushed by undercutting the bank, but today Harry didn’t appreciate its beauty. He slowly took off his shoes and socks and carefully, not making a splash, placed one foot after the other into the water. The cold rush soothed his sore, aching feet.

He knew he should probably try to catch some fish. With Ron and Hermione’s owls few and far between it had been a while since he’d had enough to eat. This in itself wouldn’t have bothered him but he knew if he grew too weak he wouldn’t be able to complete his chores and _that_ was a problem. Keeping the Dursleys off his back was the primary motivation for keeping himself fed, not self-preservation.

Harry sighed but still didn’t make a move toward the fishing rod at his side. It was Vernon’s, rescued from a lifetime collecting dust in the shed, and so far not missed. He decided to just sit for a while longer and stare off into space. But that wish was short-lived.

The loud _snap!_ of a branch made him look up.

At first he thought he was seeing things. Too much sun. Not enough food. Too little sleep. He blinked a few times, just to be sure.

Draco Malfoy stood ten feet away. Harry took in his appearance: pleated black dress pants, leather belt, pressed silver shirt buttoned to the collar, dark green robes – no doubt imbued with a Cooling Charm to withstand the summer heat – and his trademark sneer. Harry returned his gaze to the water. He didn’t feel up to this.

“Bit overdressed for fishing, Malfoy,” he casually remarked.

***

Draco watched Potter as he slouched and appeared to be lost in his thoughts. His hairbrush had clearly lost an epic battle (if he even owned one) and he was practically swimming in whatever sack he had shrugged on that morning. As someone who took great care in his appearance, Draco couldn’t understand why others didn’t do the same. He and Potter were clearly opposites yet he was inexplicably drawn to the boy.

He’d always been mesmerised by Harry, not just because of his bright green eyes contrasted by coal-black hair and rosy cheeks, but by the presence and power of his magic. Draco could feel it – it swirled all around him, wild and untamed – and it was intoxicating. It was probably a good thing Harry dressed poorly or else Draco would be done for. Not that he wasn’t already thinking of at least a dozen outfits in his closet that would look sensational on Potter. He shook his head. He wasn’t here to play dress-up.

Draco wanted Harry’s eyes on him. He liked the attention. Yearned for it. Craved it. He always had, and when he couldn’t have positive attention he sought out the negative.

He watched Harry for a few moments, silently, willing the boy to turn his head and look in his direction. He did not comply. Draco didn’t want to be the first to speak. The first person to speak usually lost and Malfoys were winners. His eyes settled on a dry-looking branch just in front. He lifted his foot and carefully, deliberately, shifted his weight. _Crack!_

Potter looked up instantly. He blinked and appeared confused. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he looked back at the water.

“Bit overdressed for fishing, Malfoy.”

Draco gestured to the area around Potter and countered, “Is that what you call this? Well, better than looking like an underdressed house elf.” He felt exhilarated; he had missed this greatly.

Draco anticipated a comeback, perhaps not terribly witty, but at least something snappy. Harry simply shrugged and then returned his attention to his feet. He moved them back and forth in the water and then in slow circles.

“Aren’t you going to call me a posh wanker?” Draco drawled, prompting him.

Potter looked up, slowly, listless. “Would it do any good?”

“Well, yeah, because then I could call you a self-centered prat and insult your hair or something.” Draco was surprised. And disappointed. It wasn’t exactly satisfying to have a one-sided argument. This wasn’t what he came for.

Harry shrugged.

There was something wrong with Potter. His shoulders were slumped in defeat, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his face appeared hollow and expressionless. Gone was his fire. Draco didn’t know what the problem was so he said the only thing that came to mind.

“Geez Potter, who died?”

He hoped to make light of the situation, perhaps goad Potter into a confession. Surely he was moping over some inconsequential Muggle girl or some other _inconvenience_ entirely specific to being Saint Potter. He didn’t expect the answer he got.

“My godfather.” Harry didn’t look up at Draco. He didn’t need to. Draco felt something lurch in his stomach and he suspected it might be guilt. Contrary to popular belief he didn’t go about intentionally trying to be a dick – that just seemed to happen all on its own – and he hadn’t known that Potter was actually grieving.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He let out a heavy sigh. He knew he’d have to charm his pants and robes clean later but he sat down beside Potter and placed a hand on his shoulder. He expected Potter to shrug him off, recoil at his touch. But he didn’t.

At first Harry didn’t appear to breathe. But then his breath hitched and Draco realised he was doing everything in his power to keep it all inside and under control. This was something he understood. He could feel the powerful vibration of Potter’s magic as it shook violently and pushed out in all directions. There was a storm raging beneath the surface and it could only be contained for so long. Draco smelled ozone in the air and the crackle of magic, ready to burst, made the hairs on his arm stand on end. He braced himself but nothing happened. Instead, two traitorous tears slid down Harry’s cheeks and when he sucked in his breath Draco moved his hand across to the other shoulder and pulled him closer.

Draco had come looking for a fight but instead found himself providing comfort. He knew he could come across as entitled and abrasive, that he thrived on winding people up, especially Potter, but he wasn’t heartless. Which was why he found himself rubbing circles into Potter’s back as he heaved sobs against his chest. He didn’t want to think about the state of his shirt. But he supposed it didn’t matter, like the rest of his outfit it could be spelled clean later.

After a while the sobs died down and Harry’s breath slowed. Against Draco’s chest he choked out, “I was supposed to spend the summer with Sirius. I wasn’t supposed to come back here.” His voice sounded raw, vulnerable.

“Sirius Black?” Draco asked and he could feel Potter nod, his curly hair tickled the underside of his chin. “He was Mother’s cousin but I never met him. I didn’t realize you were close, I thought” – wasn’t Black an escaped murderer? – “well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I’m so sorry.”

“It was my fucking fault too.” The bitterness in Potter’s voice was unmistakeable and he balled his hands into fists. Draco pulled away so he could look at him properly.

“How do you figure? I heard it was my _aunt_ ,” he choked on the word, “that did it. Killed him.”

Draco maintained eye contact with Potter and _haunted_ was the word that best fit his expression and general disposition. “But it was my fault he was at the Ministry in the first place. I tried to save him and I led him into a trap instead.” He shuddered and Draco kept his hand moving up and down his back in a manner that he hoped felt reassuring.

“You can’t blame yourself, Harry.”

Potter started to nod, slowly and Draco hoped his words would sink in and that Potter would realise their validity. But then his expression changed and shifted to one Draco couldn’t read. He sat up straighter.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

Draco smirked and then glanced at their surroundings. “There’s nobody around, no need to keep up appearances. I do a lot of things differently when no one is watching. But if you tell anyone I’ll deny it, say you were Confunded.” He playfully bumped his shoulder against Potter’s.

Potter grinned. It was the first time Draco had seen his smile directed at him. He liked it and secretly hoped to make him smile again.

“We wouldn’t want to sully your reputation as the Slytherin Ice Prince, now would we?”

“Obviously.” Draco smiled and rolled his eyes. “So, are you going to show me how this Muggle stick contraption works?” he asked, gesturing to the object by Harry’s side. He had been eyeing the strange stick earlier and wondered what it was, how it worked. He was always curious.

Potter went through the motions and demonstrated how to thread the worm onto the hook – Draco didn’t touch the worm – and showed him how to cast. With the lure in the water they sat in a slightly uncomfortable silence for the greater part of the next hour. Draco for once wasn’t sure what to say next and he wondered if perhaps Potter was uncomfortable after revealing so much. Finally, he couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“Pardon me, Potter, as thrilling as this little adventure is, please tell me something more is supposed to happen?”

Potter sighed and his stomach grumbled. “Usually I have better luck. Guess the fish aren’t biting today.”

Draco gaped at him. “So you’re telling me that Muggles sit around all day with this, er, stick device thing” – _fishing rod_ , Harry interjected – “with the hope that a fish will come along and decide to get caught?”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Well, when you put it like that.”

Draco shook his head. “Thank Merlin we’re wizards then.” He reached into his robes pocket and pulled out his wand. “ _Accio fish!_ ” Three small trout flew out of the water and, with their seeker reflexes, the boys caught them easily and plopped them into the bucket of water beside Potter’s foot.

Potter looked at Draco and his warm, friendly gaze clouded over and filled with rage. “This was your plan all along, Malfoy, wasn’t it?” he shouted. “I’m so bloody stupid. I can’t believe I fell for this whole friendship farce.” He glanced up at the sky.

Draco winced at his sudden change in demeanor but managed to sound cold and unaffected. “What are you on about, Potter?”

“Don’t play dumb, Malfoy. You and I both know you only came here to get me expelled for underage magic. I’m on my fifth strike,” he seethed, “one more misstep and I’ll be kicked out of Hogwarts, have my wand snapped in half. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Draco let out a deep sigh. “Potter, I’m offended.” But he wasn’t actually. In fact he found the whole situation hilarious. When he looked back at Potter, the boy seemed horrified by his expression. He grinned. “Actually, that does sound like something I’d do. But no, that’s not why I’m here. So you can stop your search for Ministry Owls, none will come.”

“How?” Potter asked, incredulous. “We’re both underage, and, in case you hadn’t noticed,” he gestured around them, “we’re not exactly inside a proper wizarding residence. They’ll know.” He looked dejected. “They always do.”

Draco rolled up his sleeve to reveal a cuff made of dragon hide and silver. It was carved with ancient runes, although not the ones taught at Hogwarts, these were much older. “It’s called a _Furtivus Cuff_. It prevents the Ministry, and others, from tracking me and from detecting underage magic. As long as I wear this I’m untouchable.” He beamed with pride; he knew Potter would take an interest in such a rare object.

He took hold of Draco’s arm for a closer look. “Wow. It’s beautiful. And that’s amazing.” He ran a finger along the runes and carefully traced each shape. “How does it work?”

Draco paused, thoughtfully, and considered his words. “It’s similar, or at least comparable, I suppose, to an invisibility cloak.” Draco gave Potter a pointed stare. “Rumours persist that you are in possession of such an object.” Draco chuckled as he became visibly flustered. “Don’t act all surprised. People talk. Anyway, much like how your cloak makes you disappear, this cuff renders the wearer’s magic invisible in the eyes of the Ministry. It’s old magic, and, same as with your cloak, it’s not exactly legal. But I’m sure you and I can keep a secret.” He held Potter’s gaze to ensure his meaning was grasped.

Potter nodded. “Where did you get it?”

“It’s a Malfoy family heirloom. Father gave it to me during fourth year.”

“My cloak belonged to my Dad,” Harry said softly. He looked up at Draco and after a moment said, “Look, I’m sorry I lost my temper.” He swallowed. “I’ve had a few people I’ve trusted turn out not to be so trustworthy and it’s easy to assume the worst. Especially with you.”

Draco considered this for a moment and then smiled. “It’s not as though we’ve had a smooth past, Harry, and I suppose I could have given you some warning before I summoned the fish. You’re forgiven.” Then, because he was dying to know, “You said you’re on your fifth strike? What exactly have you been doing each summer?”

Potter chuckled. “Well, the condensed version: summer after first year, your ex-house elf, Dobby, used a Hover Charm to drop a pudding onto an important house guest; summer after second year I got mad and blew up my Aunt – blew up as in, like a balloon, not exploded – but that was swept under the rug because Sirius escaped Azkaban and everyone thought he was trying to murder me; at the Quidditch World Cup my wand was used to conjure the Dark Mark – not my fault; and summer after fourth year I was tried by the entire Wizengamot for conjuring a Patronus to ward off a Dementor attack.”

“Harry, have you ever had a normal summer?”

Harry deadpanned, “Summer after fifth year, Draco Malfoy shows up and wants to go fishing with me.”

Draco laughed.

He looked into the bucket and watched the fish as they swam haphazardly. “So, do you plan to do something with these or are we just watching them for fun?”

***

Harry instructed Malfoy to keep the fish company and suggested he levitate a few boulders into position so they would have something to sit on later.

He set off to collect the necessary materials for a campfire: dry leaves, twigs small and large, as well as some larger branches. It felt good to have a task, something to keep him busy, and he didn’t mind a little time alone. Truthfully, he was a little embarrassed by his outburst. He had bared his soul to Malfoy. He thought it absurd that he had just confided more to him, his nemesis, about Sirius than he had to Ron and Hermione, his best friends. Of course, some friends they were now. Where were they when he needed them the most? And why was Malfoy so easy to talk to?

He had been doing such a good job. He’d kept everything pushed down and tucked away, deep down in that place where he couldn’t feel anything at all, so it was safe. He was safe. Touch had been his undoing – Draco Malfoy’s hand on his back, tender and soothing – and everything had come pouring out without his permission. He’d felt the bile rise up in his throat when he told Draco that Sirius’ death was all his fault. He had thought it, of course, many times over, but that was the first time he had voiced it out loud. Malfoy had been so kind, reassuring and understanding. And nice. _Malfoy. Nice._ It was a lot to process.

Harry suddenly felt very exposed and vulnerable. There was no guarantee that what happened in the ravine stayed in the ravine. What would happen when they got back to school? Would their truce hold or would Malfoy use all of this information against him like with the Dementors in third year? The endless summer still stretched on before him. He would worry about that later. Right now the emptiness in his stomach made it hard to think.

Harry put his armload of twigs and sticks down in a pile and sat on one of the boulders. Malfoy took his cue and sat on the other. He pulled out his pocket-knife. As with most things he owned, it had once been Dudley’s. He’d lost this one, briefly, and had whinged about it constantly until Vernon bought him an even bigger and better one. Harry had pocketed this one when it resurfaced.

Malfoy eyed the knife. “Is this the part where you murder me and hide my body in the woods?” he drawled.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Hardly.” He scaled and gutted the fish, all the while feeling Malfoy’s eyes on him.

“That’s disgusting, smells worse than flobberworm slime.” Malfoy wrinkled his nose but didn’t look away.

Once finished Harry carefully sharpened the ends of three sticks, skewered the fish and set them aside. He made an arrangement of small twigs and dry leaves and created a teepee shape over top with the larger twigs. He pulled out his lighter, clicked it and with a satisfying sizzle the dry leaves caught fire.

“Is that a” – Malfoy paused, brow furrowed – “Muggle _incendio_?”

Harry snorted. “Yes, but it’s called a _lighter_.” He passed it to Malfoy who turned it over in his hands and studied it carefully, thoughtfully. In this moment he reminded Harry of Arthur Weasley with his fascination of all things Muggle, but he kept that thought to himself. He didn’t think Malfoy would take well to the comparison. He cracked the larger branches over his knee to break them into smaller more manageable pieces.

“But how do they get the fire in there?” Malfoy finally asked. “Why doesn’t it explode?”

Harry added a branch onto the well lit teepee and after a brief moment it lit up. “There’s no fire inside. There’s butane, which is, er, a compressed liquid. When you press the button,” he pointed to the red button and Malfoy pushed it down, “it’s released and it becomes a gas. Do you hear it?” He moved it closer to his ear and nodded. “When you spark the flint, that little wheel there” – he pointed it out as he spoke – “the gas catches fire. It’s chemistry. Or physics. Or both, I’m not really sure. Muggle science. Hermione would know.”

“Chemistry?” Draco flicked the wheel making a spark and watched the resulting flame dance. For the first time Harry realised just how silver his eyes were.

“Chemistry. It’s like Muggle potions. Sort of.”

Harry picked up the skewers, passed one over, and demonstrated by holding his above the flames, turning it every so often. Malfoy eyed him carefully but didn’t argue and copied his movements. Once they were done – or at least they looked done enough to him – he raised one stick in the air and said, “Bon appetit.”

Malfoy scowled. “You don’t seriously expect me to eat that?”

Harry shrugged. “Scared, Malfoy?”

He flashed a dark stare. “You wish.”

Harry smirked as Malfoy’s face alternated between disgust and determination. He eyed the fish as though it might be poisoned but took a tentative nibble. He shrugged and then took another bite.

“It’s good, right?” Harry said quickly in between bites.

“It’s edible, but would be better steamed en papillote with butter, lemon and dill.”

“Posh wanker.” Harry flashed him a brief smile then began to devour his dinner.

“Remember to breathe, Potter.”

Harry made a conscious effort to slow down and chew. His stomach growled in protest.

“Don’t they feed you at home?” Malfoy asked.

He didn’t answer. Instead he added another branch to the fire.

Harry returned to Privet Drive and managed to make it to his room unseen by any of the Dursleys. He collapsed onto his bed and watched the shadows move across his ceiling. It had been a strange day. But when had his life been anything but strange? It was nice to have company, even if it was unexpected and just for the day, even if it came in the form of Draco Malfoy. Harry had to admit he actually enjoyed spending time with him today. Malfoy wasn’t so bad when he wasn’t being a bully or a git. In fact, Harry had actually had fun for once. And just for once it didn’t take Harry too long to fall asleep.

***

After Draco Apparated home he took supper with his mother. It was fish, but much different from his earlier fare having been properly seasoned and expertly prepared by their house elves. The pan-seared wild salmon melted in his mouth and the buttered garden peas and black truffle potatoes were pleasing to his palate. But he couldn’t stop thinking about the green-eyed boy with the wild black hair, the crude campfire and the trout roasted on a stick. It did not compare to the gourmet meals the house elves cooked but there was something thrilling, exhilarating even, about catching and cooking your own meal. He had to admit it was pretty amazing that Potter could do all those things without magic.

Later, Draco sat in bed and attempted to read another chapter in _A Healer’s Guide to Advanced Potions,_ but his mind wandered and kept returning to the events of the day. It had been a good day, even if he didn’t get to fight with Potter.

Truthfully, for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with how the boy had felt in his arms, he didn’t feel much like punching Harry anymore. His mind unhelpfully supplied a list of things he would much rather do with him instead. He pushed those thoughts away instantly. Harry – no, _Potter_ – was decidedly straight, his reaction to the Veela at the Quidditch World Cup and his brief dalliance with Cho Chang were proof of that.

The whole situation, once perfectly clear – they were enemies and nothing more – had become murky and confusing. Draco didn’t like being confused. Visiting Potter had obviously been a mistake. He definitely wasn’t going to do that again.

Except he did.


	2. It's Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _transpicio_ = see through

Things did not add up. It was yet another thing Draco did not like. When things didn’t add up it usually meant he was missing something, possibly something important. In his experience, everything in life had a cause and effect – action and reaction. Much like a potion, the end result was the sum of the components plus the method of brewing.

Throughout the night his mind continuously churned through the events of the previous day and they did not make sense. Potter was the Chosen One, adored and exalted by all, yet he appeared to be half-starved. He had most definitely lost weight and apparently had to catch his own food. He also wore truly god awful hand-me-down clothing that was several sizes too big for him.

Perhaps the Muggles he lived with were poor? The Weasleys were poor and wore hand-me-downs but even they managed to feed all three dozen of their freckled spawn. Besides, the Potters were pureblood and everyone knew they had been well-off. Surely they had left him the family vault?

It was because of these unanswered questions that Draco found himself standing outside Number 4 Privet Drive hidden under a Disillusionment Charm. When he came yesterday he had Apparated just in time to see Potter head to the ravine. Today he came earlier and intended to get to the bottom of things.

Of course, Draco wasn’t doing this for Potter’s benefit; his interest in the situation was entirely self-serving. He reasoned that it simply wouldn’t do to have his nemesis starve over the summer. To have a rival was a symbol of status and he was a Malfoy. Harry Potter was the only adversary befitting his carefully crafted image. Draco thought of the other Gryffindors who could possibly take his place: Ronald Weasely was pathetic and would not fit the bill, Seamus Finnegan was incompetent, Dean Thomas was boring and Neville Longbottom, well, he shuddered at that thought. No. Just no. Potter was the only one worthy of his attention. Therefore, he was just performing his duty, as Potter’s nemesis, by checking up on him to ensure his safety in order to protect their ongoing rivalry.

The dwelling was clearly Muggle and not much bigger than the gatehouse at the Manor. He wondered how an entire family could possibly live in such a small space, especially without the benefit of Extension Charms.

There were wards on the house, they pulsed and hummed, so he couldn’t go inside but he could see through the windows. He watched Harry polish the silver and vacuum the floors; mindlessly he completed one task after another. He smirked when Harry spat into each of the three bowls at the table. Why wasn’t there a fourth? Didn’t Harry eat with them? Draco also heard voices repeatedly call him _Boy_ and he was sure it wasn’t meant as a term of endearment. Harry was like a bloody house elf, except even they could use magic. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t befitting of a proper wizard let alone the Boy Who Lived.

Draco’s thoughts were interrupted by a _BANG!_ followed by a _CRASH!_ and the thunderous roar of some rather undignified yelling. A petite woman with too much neck suddenly appeared in the window, cast a few furtive glances and then yanked the curtains closed.

“Vernon, the neighbours!” she shrieked. “Keep your voice down and don’t make a scene.”

Draco palmed the wand in his pocket and whispered _transpicio_ but the walls remained opaque; the wards repelled his magic. It was not unexpected but he thought it worth a try just in case. His shoulders tensed. Whatever was happening inside surely had something to do with Harry. Powerless. Everything was out of his control and he didn’t like it.

Suddenly Harry bolted around the side of the house with a boy – who looked like a small, squat erumpent, if one were to walk on hind legs – in hot pursuit. This was most likely the source of Harry’s unfortunate wardrobe. Draco was surprised by how fast the Erumpent could move but Harry easily outpaced him. Draco felt a surge of relief as Harry sped away.

The front door flew open, ricocheted off the side of the house, and a great oaf of a man burst through. He had no neck and a bushy mustache that made him look like a walrus – clearly the Erumpent’s father. Between the two of them it was no wonder Harry went hungry.

“You come back here, Boy!” the Walrus bellowed.

Harry didn’t look back but picked up his pace.

The Walrus muttered something under his breath that sounded like _ungrateful_ and _freak_ and then went back inside and slammed the door shut.

The Erumpent panted heavily, gave up and turned back.

The door re-opened and the long-necked woman stood in the frame. “Just a little misunderstanding,” she said to the neighbours across the yard and made a nervous titter. “Nothing to worry about,” she reassured in a falsely chipper voice and retreated back inside.

Draco headed down to Potter’s ravine.

He found Harry a little further downstream than yesterday on a bank covered in pebbles and rocks. Harry wound up and threw a large rock into the water, hard, as though it had personally offended him. The river made a loud _splash_ in reply. When he turned to grab another he caught sight of Draco.

“You’re back,” Harry said, clearly surprised. His left eye was red and swollen and would most likely be black by morning.

_Way to state the obvious, Potter._

_Nice shiner, would you like another to match?_

Those were the words Draco once would have said. Those were things that were comfortable to say. But somewhere in between the events of yesterday and what he had just witnessed, the insults had lost their potency and meaning. In truth, his stomach churned and he had entered unfamiliar territory.

When he found his voice he found himself saying, “I am,” softly. He took a deep breath and added, “Nice shiner,” but he meant no malice. He just stated the obvious because he didn’t know what else to say. What else could he say?

There was a pause while Harry stared at him. Draco could imagine what was going through his mind.

_Piss off, Malfoy!_

_You’re just sorry someone else beat you to the punch._

Those were the obvious retorts and Draco could almost hear them on the tip of Harry’s tongue. After five years of bickering and trying to tear one another down they would be automatic. But to his credit – and everyone, Draco included, was well aware of Harry’s hot temper – Harry bit down on them and choked them back. Was it possible that Harry wanted this truce as much as he did? In the end Harry didn’t say anything. Instead, he shrugged and picked up another rock. _Plonk!_ The water flew in all directions.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” he finally said, absently.

Draco approached Harry gently as though he were a hippogriff that could startle at any moment. He was sure to make slow and deliberate movements and he waited until Harry looked at him before he slowly and tentatively reached up and cupped his cheek.

“This looks really bad,” he said.

“It’s nothing,” Harry muttered.

Draco wondered how often _nothing_ happened. With his free hand Draco grabbed his wand and, with the memory of Harry’s reaction yesterday fresh in his mind, slowly raised it. Harry flinched.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, “I can heal it for you.”

Harry’s startled expression changed to one of dread. “No, you can’t,” he said forcefully and started to back up.

“It’s alright,” Draco replied and pointed to his _Furtivus Cuff_. “We won’t get in trouble for underage magic, remember?”

Harry let out a small sigh and then paused as though mulling something over. “You can’t heal me,” he stated firmly. “If I go home and this” – he gestured to his eye – “is gone, I’ll just come back here tomorrow with an even bigger one.” He bit his lip and looked away.

Anger flared inside Draco but he carefully schooled his expression to one of nonchalance. “Alright,” he said matter-of-factly. “I won’t heal it, but I can make it feel better. If you’ll let me.”

Harry looked at him, eyed him curiously as though searching for signs of an ulterior motive. After a moment he nodded slowly. Draco returned his hand to Harry’s face, against the line of his jaw, and ran his wand along the periphery of the bruise. He muttered the incantation, a spell that would take away the sting but not remove the pigment from the bruise.

“Better?” Draco asked delicately. Harry nodded. Before he could stop himself Draco put his arms around Harry and pulled him into a hug. He felt Harry tense for a moment but then he relaxed and returned the embrace. He could admit it now. He wanted Harry’s friendship just as much now as he had that first day back in Madam Malkin’s robes shop. He wanted to be the one Harry came to and confided in, he wanted to be the one to go on adventures with Harry, and just now, he wanted to be the one to make everything better.

There were many things Draco wanted to ask Harry. He wanted to know who had hit him. Was it the Walrus or the Erumpent? He wanted to do something about it. But he didn’t want to push and he certainly didn’t want to admit to spying on him. Aside from being creepy, he was certain it wouldn’t go over well and might even destroy their tentative truce. Instead, he said, “I’ve brought us a picnic. Are you hungry?”

They settled at the same spot where they’d had the campfire. The ashy remains were scorched into the ground. Harry gestured to a nearby log and Draco levitated it between the boulders and gave it a thorough _Scourgify_. Draco frowned. He cast a few more spells to even out and smooth the surface. Perfect.

He pulled out the miniature picnic basket from his robes pocket and whispered, “ _Engorgio_.” He set it down beside the log table and tapped it three times with his wand. Both boys watched as the log was covered in a smooth royal blue table cloth while elegant dishes, cups and silverware sprang free and arranged themselves neatly between ivory napkins with silver napkin rings.

Draco watched Harry’s face with quiet amusement. “It’s charmed to set up and clean up.”

It was a feast. There was a pitcher of ice cold butterbeer that hovered mid-air while the glasses filled and an oval platter with an assortment of sandwiches: egg salad, cucumber and cream cheese, smoked salmon and dill, chicken with cranberry sauce, and ham with brie. There were also smaller plates filled with sweets: cauldron cakes with molten centres, an expensive box of Draco’s favourite Belgian chocolates that automatically refilled, and treacle tart. Draco had been sure to request that, he’d noticed Harry go back for seconds and sometimes thirds when it was served at Hogwarts. As usual, Bilby had outdone herself. Draco made a mental note to thank her later.

Harry’s eyes were wide and his mouth slightly agape. He probably hadn’t seen that much food in a long time.

“Wow, er, thank you,” he stammered. Eloquent as ever. But grateful. Then he chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“We’re in the middle of a ravine, sitting on boulders, and you’ve brought table linens?”

Draco sighed. Honestly. “Well, we’re not heathens. It’s never too much trouble to be civilized.” He lifted his napkin, gently placed it on his lap and hoped that Potter would follow suit.

Harry did, but he also seemed uncomfortable. Was it a bit much to pack the china? It wasn’t even the _good_ china but it was probably far more elaborate than whatever crockery Harry didn’t eat from at home.

“Relax, enjoy yourself. I can always cast a _Reparo_ later if necessary.”

Harry flashed him a smile and filled his plate with sandwiches.

Draco slowly nibbled on a smoked salmon and dill sandwich while he watched Harry tuck in. Now he knew for sure the Muggles didn’t feed him properly. Despite the fish eaten yesterday he ate like he hadn’t seen food for weeks. Perhaps he hadn’t. Now that he considered it, wasn’t Harry always thinner at the start of the school year? And didn’t he always gorge himself silly at the Feast? So did Crabbe and Goyle, so he hadn’t thought too much of it before, but now he knew why.

Draco watched Harry eat and felt a rush of warmth fill his chest. He couldn’t help but feel fond, even if his table manners were less than satisfactory. He decided that now, with Harry sufficiently distracted by food, would be the best time to speak his mind. He took a moment to gather his thoughts and formulate them the best way possible. When he spoke it was carefully; his voice guarded.

“I don’t want to overstep, but I think Dumbledore would want to know. About what’s going on here. About your family. Surely he would do something?”

Harry’s mouth was full but the look he flashed Draco implied pity at his naivety of the situation. He’d seen the same look on his father’s face that one time he’d asked why he couldn’t just cut ties and be done with the Dark Lord.

“He knows, doesn’t he?” Draco’s voice shook, he couldn’t suppress the anger as it crept in and betrayed his carefully schooled emotions. “That bastard.”

Harry appeared surprised at Draco’s outburst. Perhaps surprised that he was angry on his behalf?

“Look, there’s a reason I have to stay here. You and I both know that your father is a Death Eater.” Draco winced at the words but Harry took no notice and continued. “So I can’t tell you why, that’s between Dumbledore and I.” He swallowed – Draco watched his Adam’s apple bob – and appeared pensive but continued. “Look, I normally don’t have to spend the entire summer here. Usually I’m off to the Weaselys by now. But, with Voldemort back and publicly recognized, Dumbledore thought it best I stay here and not put anyone else in danger with my presence.”

Harry popped another sandwich in his mouth and apparently remembered how to chew.

Draco still wasn’t used to the casual way Harry let the Dark Lord’s name slide off his tongue, as easily as _liverwurst_ or _Filch_ or _blast-ended skrewt_.

In truth, he felt a bit guilty. Harry was stuck with his horrible Muggle relatives while his family housed the madman responsible for his plight. He knew that as long as the Dark Lord remained inside his house Harry was safe, but he didn’t actually know the Dark Lord’s plans or when he would next strike. So really, there was nothing to be done about it. But it still gnawed away at him.

Draco huffed. “Well, that’s great and all for everyone else, but what about you?”

Harry smiled at him, sweetly. There was a small smear of cream cheese on his lip – Draco resisted the urge to swipe it away with his thumb. With a resigned look Harry said, “Apparently I’m the Chosen One and this is my lot. Aren’t you jealous?”

The truth was he had been jealous. Ever since first year Potter had always been given the kind of preferential treatment that not even money could buy. He’d gotten away with things that anybody else would have been expelled for. He’d stolen the House Cup out from under Slytherin (extra points achieved by breaking the rules no less) and beaten them at Quidditch when he was still too young to play. He was called into the Headmaster’s office frequently for friendly chats (clearly his pet) and he had refused Draco’s hand in friendship when they were eleven.

But Draco would never have guessed the darker side to Harry’s life. He had always assumed he’d been adored, lifted up on a pedestal by his Muggle relatives. Perhaps all the so-called preferential treatment was just an attempt to make up for the other more unsavoury aspects of Harry’s life? Now that he’d seen this side first-hand he most certainly did not feel jealous. But it wasn’t pity he felt either. It was empathy. He felt protective of Harry and just wanted to do what he could to make his life better.

“Not really,” he replied. He pointed to the rapidly diminishing platter of sandwiches. “Which do you like best?”

“They’re all really good,” Harry said, wiping a crumb off his chin absently. “But I especially like the chicken and cranberry.” Draco made a mental note for next time.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” Draco asked, and when Harry appeared confused he clarified, “All of it, being here, being the Chosen One?”

“All the time. I never asked for any of this.”

“So why do you stay? Do what you’re told, what everyone expects of you?”

“What am I supposed to do? Run away?” Harry laughed. “Did that once actually, after I blew up my aunt. Spent the rest of the summer at the Leaky and it was brilliant. But it wouldn’t be safe now and truthfully, Hogwarts is the only home I’ve ever had.”

“Yet someone’s tried to kill you every year.”

“Still beats being here. Besides, whether we want it or not, there’s a war brewing and we all have a part to play.”

They ate dessert and when they were both sufficiently gorged Draco tapped the basket. Everything flew neatly back inside.

“Exploding snap?” he asked.

Harry nodded.

Draco dealt the cards but the wind picked up and scattered them about.

“I’d use a Sticking Charm but that might make them more volatile,” he said and then sighed.

“I’ve got somewhere we can go.”

***

In addition to the fishing rod, Harry had also nicked the Dursleys’ old tent, bought many summers ago for an ill-fated camping trip, also permanently banished to the shed.

Now it was Harry’s and it kept him cool from the midday sun, dry when it rained and sheltered when it was windy. It wasn’t much but it was his and he was proud of it. So of course he was disappointed when Draco looked inside, turned up his aristocratic nose and declared, “This simply won’t do.”

He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected but that wasn’t it. After the impressive picnic Draco had provided he wanted to impress him in return. Instead, he felt disappointed.

Draco set to work and began to transfigure the tent into, as he put it, _something worthy of two wizards_. It wasn’t fair that he could use magic while Harry couldn’t. But, he supposed, it was equally unfair that he could roam the castle and lob snowballs at Draco undetected.

Draco spelled the tent five times larger. Billowy fabric in shades of blue and purple – _indigo and violet, Potter_ – lined the canopy ceiling accented by fairy lights.

He transfigured an old blanket into a plush rug with orange and yellow designs – _persimmon and tangerine, have you no sense of colour?_ – and the lid from an old tin became a small, low table. Pebbles from the river transformed into light blue cushions – _it’s called cerulean, I worked hard to get it that particular shade_.

Harry had to admit Draco’s spellwork was intricate and precise. Maybe Hermione was right and he really ought to pay more attention in class. It was just hard with someone always trying to kill him.

He always knew Malfoy did well in school, scoring second to Hermione, except for Potions. But there was knowing, as in having knowledge and not really paying attention to it, and _knowing_ , as in seeing with your own eyes. _Wow. Impressive._

Draco chuckled. Had he said that last part out loud?

“Never thought I’d see the day that you’d admit to being impressed by anything I did.”

“Well,” Harry looked around the room, “I give credit where credit is due. This is amazing.” He wondered if Draco had ever seen _Aladdin_. Probably not, but the tent certainly looked inspired by the film. For good measure Draco added Notice-Me-Not and Muggle-Repelling Charms.

“God I miss magic,” Harry sighed. Draco gave him a sympathetic glance.

They sat on cushions and Draco dealt the cards. As they played, Harry decided to ask the question that had gnawed at him since yesterday.

“How did you know where to find me?”

“Umbridge. When I was on the Inquisitorial Squad I spent a lot of time in her office. Your file was a permanent fixture on her desk. That woman really had it out for you.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“It wasn’t hard to take a look when she left the room.”

Draco looked down at Harry’s hand and saw the raised lines. _I must not tell lies._ “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about all that. I only joined the squad because Father said it would look good if I did. But it never felt good and I realise now it was a bit of a dick move.” He looked Harry in the eyes. “I am sorry.”

“I know,” Harry replied. “What else did it say? My file. I know you looked, probably read the whole thing.”

Draco smirked. “I only got to flip through it a bit. She never left for long. It was rather boring, actually. Just the usual rubbish: clubbing mountain trolls, driving an enchanted car, slaying basilisks, rescuing children from mermaids and grindylows, running illegal dueling clubs…”

Harry interjected, “Actually, it was Ron who drove the car.”

Draco chuckled. “Seriously, how were you never expelled?”

“Chosen One.” Harry grinned and reached for a card but it exploded before he could grab it. “Blast,” he muttered and placed his sore fingers in his mouth. Draco laughed.

“I like this,” Harry said. “You and I, getting along. But you still haven’t told me why you’re here. Yesterday you said you weren’t here to get me expelled. Why did you come?”

Draco appeared to be on the verge of speaking several times before he finally did.

“I was bored.”

Harry smirked and then burst out laughing. “You were bored? So you just thought you’d pay your best mate Harry Potter a visit out in the Muggle world?

Draco sighed and then gave Harry a sheepish grin. “You make it sound ridiculous. Alright, so we’ve never been friends. No thanks to you rejecting my offer of friendship first year.”

Harry raised an eyebrow and Draco amended, “And no thanks to me for all my attempts to make you regret it. Harry, you’ve been a lot of things but you’ve never been boring. Not to me anyway.”

“What about your henchmen?”

“Hilarious, Potter,” Draco drawled. “Crabbe and Goyle are not the most suitable candidates for stimulating conversation.”

That made sense, they had always seemed like dunces and Harry never understood why Draco put up with them. “And the others? Parkinson? Zabini?”

“Blaise is off gallivanting through Italy with his mother and her – seventh? eighth? – husband. One can never keep track. Pansy only hangs around in hopes I will break down and court her.” Draco made a face.

“And you don’t want to?”

“Ugh, she’s insipid.”

“Well, lack of stimulating conversation aside, I would have thought you’d have endless things to do in that overly large and, I’m assuming, extremely posh home of yours.”

Draco became very quiet and Harry couldn’t help but stare at him, notice his furrowed brow, the way he bit at his bottom lip. At that moment he appeared very small and vulnerable, in a way Harry had never seen before.

“Harry, I’m going to tell you something and I need for you to believe me.” He grabbed Harry’s hand and maintained eye contact. Smoke billowed from the cards that lay forgotten on the table. His hand was incredibly smooth, had probably never known hard labour, most likely slathered in lotions nightly. It was warm and reassuring, tethered to Harry’s like an anchor.

“I know I’ve never given you a reason to before,” his voice was earnest, pleading, “but I’m asking you to now.”

“All right,” Harry said. Draco had his full attention. “What is it?”

He watched as Draco took a deep breath. Usually composed, he appeared nervous. That made Harry nervous. He feared he wouldn’t like what he was about to hear. His pulse raced.

“As you’ve already mentioned, my father is a Death Eater. He always has been, as are many of his acquaintances, so it’s never really seemed like a big deal. I’ve always thought of it as more like a VIP membership to an exclusive members-only club.”

Harry smiled slowly, wryly. Of course Malfoy would see it that way.

“But things are different now the Dark Lord is back. And I don’t like it.” He swallowed and then continued. “After the whole business at the Ministry he was furious with Father. I don’t know much but that wasn’t supposed to be his big reveal. He blames Father for that. So now, as punishment, he’s taken over Malfoy Manor. He’s in my house, Harry.”

Draco’s eyes bore deeply into Harry’s and it made him shiver. This revelation chilled him to the bone. Was that why Draco was here? Was Draco gathering information for the enemy? Was he a complete idiot for warming up to and confiding in Draco?

As though he could read these thoughts on Harry’s face – and perhaps he could – Draco burst out, “That’s not why I’m here, Harry. I’m not doing his bidding.”

With their hands clasped Harry could feel him tremble. His hand was not clammy, like it would have been if he was nervous about being caught. The emotion felt raw and he trembled as though worried his confession would jeopardize their truce and budding friendship.

“My mother is not a Death Eater and neither am I.” He didn’t let go of Harry’s hand but he twisted his arm and rolled up his sleeve to reveal a creamy expanse of alabaster skin, unmarked. “I don’t want to be a part of this war. The Inquisitorial Squad left a bad taste in my mouth and I don’t want any more.” He seemed to belatedly realize he had squeezed Harry’s hand harder the more animated he became and relaxed his grip. “I’d offer to let you use Legilimency on me, but you can’t use your magic and I don’t dare take this cuff off.”

If the Ministry couldn’t track Draco then it stood to reason that neither could the Death Eaters or their leader. That suddenly felt very important.

“I’d never ask that of you,” Harry said. “It’s invasive and it feels horrible.”

“Only if it’s not invited. But thank you.” He smiled. “For my protection I’ve essentially been confined to my quarters. And yes, it grows tiresome. So I came to see you. Truthfully, I came here looking for a fight. But this,” he gestured between them, “this is better. I like this.”

Silence followed. Harry didn’t know what to say but he didn’t take his hand back. Voldemort was inside Draco’s house doing Merlin-knows-what. He didn’t know what to do with this information. But, for whatever reason – foolishness? recklessness? wishful thinking? – he believed Draco when he said he wasn’t working for Voldemort.

“Say something, please,” Draco pleaded and shifted nervously.

Harry’s lips curled into a grin. “Well, you’re not doing a very good job of staying in your room, are you?”

Harry laughed and Draco joined him. “Yes, of course that’s the part you choose to fixate on. Well, as long as I take breakfast and supper with Mother I’m left to my own devices all day. As far as anyone is concerned I’m in my room right now.

“Mother thought about sending me away but decided it was best to keep me close. She warded my room so only our family has access.”

“I can see how being stuck in your room would suck.” Harry had experience with that, although he was sure Narcissa didn’t serve him scraps through a cat-flap.

“It feels like all my freedom, all my choices have been taken away.”

“So you’re not happy with your family’s involvement with Voldemort?

“No, as I said, it was never really a big deal before. But things got real at the end of fourth year, when the Dark Lord came back and killed Cedric. Such a senseless waste.”

Cedric. The name alone transported Harry back to the graveyard. _Kill the spare_. Clutching his lifeless body, summoning the portkey, returning to confusion and mayhem. It _was_ a senseless waste.

“He was a good bloke. Kind-hearted and gentle. An excellent Quidditch player,” Harry finally said. It was all true.

“Yes,” Draco agreed. “And he was fit.” He had a slight blush to his cheeks and he appeared to study Harry, as though curious to see what his reaction would be. Disgusted? Tolerant?

Well, since they were learning about one another, Harry figured he may as well confess.

“He certainly was.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “I thought you had a thing for Chang?”

Harry shrugged and gave Draco a playful grin. “Actually, I fancied them both. I was going to ask Cedric to the Yule Ball but I ran into Cho first. I guess it’s fitting they went together then.”

“Potter, I’m shocked. You’re just full of secrets, aren’t you now?”

Harry just smiled. _If only he knew._

After a moment Draco spoke softly. “I’m sure Cedric would have gone with you if you’d asked him first.”

Harry brightened. “Really?”

“He’d have been an idiot not to.”

Harry could feel a blush crawl up his cheeks. “You went with Pansy, didn’t you?”

Draco wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“So, not your first choice then?”

“Definitely not.”

“Who did you really want to go with?”

“Someone who probably would have never given me a chance. Not that I would blame him.”

They sat in silence for a few moments before Harry spoke.

“I think you’re too hard on yourself.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Later that night Harry lay awake in his bed. He didn’t know what to make of the past two days. Draco had come to him of all people and they had confided in each other, shared secrets and covered a lot of ground. He had been there for him when no one else was. But, he had Voldemort living in his house. He did seem sincere that he didn’t want any part of this war and he said he wasn’t about to deliver Harry up to him. Could he trust him now? Were they becoming friends? Perhaps something more?

Draco had admitted to liking boys. Harry had never really thought of Draco that way before, they had spent too much energy winding each other up and tearing each other down. But hate was the flipside of love and he could admit now that he found him attractive. There had always been something between them, a fire that burned brightly, explosively. He sighed as he thought of Draco’s magic washing over him when he treated his bruise. It tingled like fire and ice. The memory made him shiver.

Pigwidgeon came with Hermione’s letter late at night just as Harry’s eyes grew heavy with sleep. Of course they were together.It pained him to know his two best friends were closer with each other than they were with him. Shared secrets had that effect. Did Harry feel like a third wheel? Maybe just a little bit.

Harry gave a treat to the tiny owl and another to Hedwig who seemed rather put out by the other owl’s presence. Only after he had stroked her beak tenderly and whispered a hushed apology was he finally able to sit down and unroll the parchment.

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. I really can’t say much – you know I would if I could – but just know there is a plan in place. You are safest where you are. Please do try to be careful and don’t do anything rash or reckless. Ron sends his regards. He wants me to tell you he’s spent the summer de-gnoming the garden and has not been having fun of any sort._

Harry snorted. He was still mad at being kept in the dark, and that Ron couldn’t be bothered to send his own note, but he did appreciate his effort to commiserate.

_Soon we’re off to Australia – my parents have a dental conference in Sydney. We are so thrilled; they’ve always wanted to go to Australia. Ron’s coming with us (I wish you could come too). He’s excited to surf at Bondi beach. After Sydney we’re renting a caravan and driving to Cairns. I’ve perfected my Bubble-Head Charm so we can explore the Great Barrier Reef. I’ll be sure to send a postcard. We will see you in Diagon Alley on August 30th._

_Lots of love,_

_Hermione_

Great. Sounded like she was having a lovely time. Harry swallowed carefully. Truthfully, he didn’t begrudge her the time away. Merlin knew she deserved it with all the studying she did, but it was hard to be alone when he knew his friends had each other. Why couldn’t he go to Australia as well? Also, plans in place? Surely if there were plans in place they would concern him and as such didn’t he have a right to know what they were? Why was he always kept in the dark? Had any of them faced Voldemort? He hated being treated like a child.

Based on previous experience he knew he couldn’t stay angry at Hermione and Ron for long. How could they tell him anything when their hands were tied? But Dumbledore? That was another matter entirely. Harry was sick of Dumbledore’s secrets, tired of listening to him speak in riddles and had grown weary of the old man pretending as though his every decision didn’t have a direct impact on Harry’s life. He’d had enough of living with the Dursleys and it was all Dumbledore’s fault that he had to spend the entire summer here with no hope for an early escape. Well, except for some _plan_ that may or may not exist. He knew better than to get his hopes up.

Harry had felt so entirely abandoned and alone until Draco Malfoy had shown up. The irony was not lost on him that Draco, once the bane of his existence, was the one ray of sunlight in Harry’s all-too-dark summer. Draco made him feel happy. He made him feel…things. Confusing things, to be sure, but good things. He couldn’t wait to see him again.

When Harry dreamed, it was of hands. Impossibly soft, smooth hands. Creamy, alabaster hands that shone in the moonlight and reached for him. He hungered for them. The desire for touch, for physical contact, was a hunger greater than anything his stomach had ever known. The hands, dozens of them, slid over his shoulders and down his back, caressed his cheek, his neck and his sternum. His heart beat wildly as he leaned into those hands, yearned for more, the touch never enough. Soft brushes and soothing circles. Silver eyes and a flash of white-blond hair glowed like a beacon in the dark.

When he awoke he did not remember any of this, but he felt strangely comforted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤ Thank you for reading. Comments and kudos are always appreciated ❤


	3. Finite Incantatem

Never underestimate a mother’s love. Lily Evans Potter gave her life to protect her only son. Narcissa Black Malfoy would do the same.

It was Blood Magic, the oldest type of magic, that kept Draco’s rooms hidden. From the veins of the mother, filled with love and selfless devotion.

Anybody who came to the third floor – Death Eaters, the Dark Lord himself – would find an empty corridor filled with nothing but portraits. Only family, blood, could see and access the door that led to Draco’s chambers.

She could have sent him away. There were no shortage of places to hide him. The château in the Loire Valley, their villa in Tuscany, or any of their other lesser-used properties scattered throughout the Continent. But it didn’t feel right and she couldn’t be truly certain he wasn’t left vulnerable. It was better to keep him close and keep him hidden. Confining him to his rooms might seem extreme to some but in her opinion you could never be too careful. The extra time to study and brew potions wouldn’t hurt him either.

When Narcissa learned that the Dark Lord would commandeer their home, she spent time teaching her son all that she could for his protection. He was already very bright and among the top of his class but there was more he needed to know, just in case.

She taught him healing spells and advanced protection spells against Dark Magic, stronger and more effective than a standard _Protego_. She taught him to Apparate, even though he wouldn’t come of age for another year, so he could Apparate directly into her rooms unseen. She enforced Occlumency at all times. _Never let down your guard._

In her eyes, Draco was still a child and he had no business getting involved in a war. He would study and keep his head down and move on to do great things. He would bring honour to the Malfoy name. Her decision was final.

Her sister, however, was another story. But she wasn’t a mother; she would never know. She would never understand.

“Sister dear, kindly refrain from lurking in this corridor lest you attract unwanted attention.” Narcissa was delicate yet firm, unyielding.

Bellatrix let her eyes roam the hallway before she turned to her little sister.

“He’s leaving his rooms, I’ll have you know.” Her stare was deep, penetrating, her eyes magnetic black pools.

“Don’t be daft, he dines in my quarters, you know that.” Narcissa carefully schooled her features to reflect calm indifference, only her finger twitched at her side.

“I don’t feel him in there.” She brushed her hand along the wall, slowly, and across Draco’s door.

“That’s entirely the point.”

Bellatrix continued to stare, darkly, into Narcissa’s eyes, then softened, a gleam forming instead.

“You’re holding him back, Cissy, standing in the way of his destiny.”

Narcissa squared her shoulders, willed herself to her full height. “I assure you I am doing no such thing.”

“He should be by his father’s side, serving the Dark Lord, bringing glory to the family name. They will do great things. He should be a part of it.”

“I assure you my Dragon will do great things. He will go far, but it will be his choice. I will not force this upon him.”

Bellatrix scowled.

“Come Bella, let’s have tea in my chambers. I’ll show you the new gown I had custom made for the fundraiser gala.”

Bellatrix cast a lingering glance at the solitary door in the hallway and then turned to follow. With a swish of robes, Narcissa turned on her heel and strode towards the Grand Staircase.

***

Harry had already been yelled at twice today, not that it was anything new. First, for doing a load of laundry that was entirely his own clothing – _what a waste of water, always do a full load, Freak!_ – and then for shrinking the entire load. That had been on purpose. Hot water to wash followed by the hottest dryer setting. Dudley’s cast-offs might not be the height of fashion but at least they fit him a little better. He knew it was silly, it’s not like it was a date or anything, but he really looked forward to the possibility of seeing Draco today. He hoped he would return.

Harry hurried through the rest of his chores and tried to ignore the loud noises and general chaos centred in the garden. He was glad that for once he wasn’t the cause. The aftermath had been weird but he found he didn’t care. In fact, he had been delighted. On his way to the ravine, he stopped briefly at the park to gather rocks – special flat ones that were most excellent for skipping, better than the rounded ones found by the river – beneath an old weathered stone wall.

Harry stood by the river and skipped a stone. He smiled. He felt Malfoy’s presence before he saw him. He wasn’t sure how but he had this awareness of the other boy, knew when his eyes were on him. He liked it. He smiled and turned.

“I thought I heard you.”

Draco returned the smile and nodded. Harry noticed he was wearing a black button-up shirt, more informal than usual, khaki shorts and trainers. Casual, yet he looked like he belonged on the cover of a hiking magazine. Harry swallowed.

“Dressed for the occasion, are we?” Harry asked.

“Well, when in Rome…or Little Whinging.”

Harry turned and flung another stone. He watched as it skipped five times before it disappeared beneath the surface. Respectable, but nowhere near his personal best. He expected Draco to join in but he seemed more interested in keeping watch, alternating between glances at Harry and gazing off into the distance. He offered a stone to Draco but found him unresponsive.

“Why do you keep looking at the sky? It doesn’t change much moment to moment.”

“Keeping watch for your Ministry Owl,” he drawled, “and here I thought you were worried about getting dinged for underage magic.”

It took Harry a moment but then he shook his head and laughed.

“It’s not magic, you tosser,” he said fondly, “it’s physics. More Muggle science.” He picked up another stone. “It’s got to be flat or it won’t work. You put a bit of a spin on it as you throw and it skips off the surface.” Harry wound up and released the stone, it skipped six times. “Thirteen is my personal best,” he announced, head held high. He selected a stone for Draco. “Your turn now.”

Draco tried to duplicate the movement but his stone hit the water and promptly sank. He tried twice more with similar results. Harry tried to stifle his laughter but Draco caught him and frowned.

“I bet you’re loving this, Potter.”

“Maybe just a little bit.” He demonstrated the movement again. “It’s like you’re doing Wingardium Leviosa. A swish and a flick.”

Draco flicked his rock and it hovered shakily over the water before landing with a resounding _plop!_ Harry gave his shoulder a gentle shove.

“I said _like_ Wingardium Leviosa, not to actually use the spell. Here.” Harry placed another flat rock into Draco’s hand and guided it into position between his finger and thumb. Draco’s hand was so soft it was distracting. Harry had a sudden flash, an image of hands, and then it was gone. He wondered what it would feel like to have Draco’s hands on him. He shook his head and reminded himself to focus. He came up close, right behind Draco, and guided his arm back. When he spoke, his lips were dangerously close to Draco’s ear and he felt him shiver, thrilled that he could elicit that response. “Remember,” he whispered, “a swish and a flick.” He guided him through the motion and told him when to release. The stone skipped twice. “There, you see? Now you try by yourself.” He stepped back and instantly missed the warmth of their shared proximity.

Harry passed him another flat rock and watched him wind up and release. The stone skipped three times. Draco looked pleased with himself.

“There, you did it! I knew you could.” Harry beamed. A light blush tinted Draco’s cheeks. He was adorable. He picked up another rock and Harry did the same.

“How is your eye today?”

“It’s not too bad. Better than it would have been, thank you.” Harry turned the rock over slowly in his hand. “So, something interesting happened today,” he said, casually, and flung his rock.

“What’s that?” Draco watched the stone skip eight times. “Wow,” he said under his breath.

“Vernon and Dudley are stuck at home. All swollen up with welts. Pretty terrible looking.”

“Oh, what a shame.” Draco’s concern didn’t sound terribly convincing and he busied himself with collecting more of the flat rocks. “How did that happen?”

“They were out in the garden and Petunia swears they were attacked by a rogue swarm of wasps.” Harry released another stone.

_Bounce – bounce – bounce – bounce – plop!_

“Nasty buggers,” Draco offered, but he started to fiddle with his sleeve and wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes.

“But the strange thing is,” Harry continued, looking right at Draco, “they didn’t look like bee stings to me, at least none that I’d ever seen. In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say they’d been hit by dozens of stinging jinxes. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Draco’s stone skipped five times and his eyes lit up. “I can assure you I have no idea what you’re on about, Potter,” he replied, but the corner of his mouth quirked up into the slightest of grins.

“Right, of course not.” Harry stepped closer. “Draco” – Draco’s head snapped up, grey eyes met green – “let’s not pretend you haven’t been coming here all week doing nice things for me.” He put his hand on Draco’s shoulder. His hand seemed to move all on its own. It slid around the back of Draco’s neck and intertwined with the sleek platinum strands as Harry stepped into his space. He placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, then, feeling bolder, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Harry’s heart pounded in his chest, so loudly it drowned out the gurgling river. His lips brushed against Draco’s – they were every bit as soft as he had imagined – and then pressed firmly. There was no response. Harry pulled back instantly and shame washed over him.

“I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot.” He raked his hand through his unruly locks. “Obviously I’ve misread the situation. I thought – ”

“No, you’re not wrong.” Draco caught Harry’s wrist and prevented him from pulling further away. “It’s just…” He seemed to be at war with himself, searching for the right words to let Harry down. Obviously. How could he have been so foolish to think Draco would actually be interested in him?

“Look, Harry, oh hell…” Now he seemed more annoyed with Harry, or maybe himself? “I’ve liked you for a long time, and I do want this, but let’s not fool ourselves. We’ll go back to school and everything will go back to the way it was. You’ll hang out with Ron and Hermione” – the _‘and not with me’_ was left unspoken but they both understood – “and I don’t think I can do this and then just pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I don’t want things to go back to how they were.” Harry looked deeply into Draco’s stormy grey eyes. “I like this. I like you.”

“You say that now, but you chose Ron and Hermione before and you’ll choose them again. I know you will.”

Harry stepped a little closer. “What if I choose you too?”

“Your friends hate me, they won’t go for that.”

“What about what I want? Doesn’t that matter? And if you’re not being a git all the time they’ll come around. Trust me.”

Draco’s face softened and he leaned in to connect their lips. Harry melted into the embrace.

He had only ever kissed one person before, Cho, and this was nothing like that. For one, there was no crying involved. But that wasn’t the only factor that made this experience infinitely better. Draco could kiss. There was no denying it. The drag of his lips across Harry’s was electric and sent sparks throughout his entire body, from the tips of his fingers down to his toes.

When Draco pulled back, Harry briefly lamented the loss of his lips. But, he couldn’t help but smile when he saw the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Let’s go flying,” he said.

Harry hadn’t been on a broom in weeks. “I don’t – ”

“I do.” Draco reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out what looked like a handful of twigs and a tiny seed. He whispered, “ _Engorgio_ ,” and passed Harry a broom while he mounted the other. Harry was tempted but pensive. “The magic is inherent, it’s not like casting a spell. As long as we keep to the trees so we don’t break the Statute of Secrecy then we’re not breaking any Ministry rules.

Harry mounted the broom, a Nimbus 2050, and kicked off while Draco released the snitch. They spent the next hour racing up and down the ravine. They kept below the treeline, weaved around one another, sometimes brushing shoulders, and sought after the golden snitch. Harry did an impressive barrel dive pulling out just as his knuckles grazed the water. He caught the snitch eight times to Draco’s seven.

Draco had just released the snitch again when he froze, his eyes fixed somewhere over Harry’s left shoulder. Harry went to look but Draco caught his eye and shook his head, slowly.

“Muggles,” he whispered.

Harry held still and hoped the lack of movement coupled with his drab attire would serve as camouflage. Draco cocked his head slightly, indicating direction.

“Quick, fly to the tent.”

Frantic, they closed the distance as fast as they could and landed in a heap, just inside, limbs tangled, Draco on top of Harry, both panting from exertion and trying very hard not to laugh.

“I’ve never seen anyone down here before,” Harry gasped, still winded.

In the distance, muffled, they could hear a man and a woman talk. They didn’t sound like two people who had just been shocked to see a couple of wizards fly on broomsticks.

“Look! A hummingbird,” the woman exclaimed.

“That’s a pretty fat hummingbird, look how round the body is,” the man commented.

“Blast,” Draco grimaced. “ _Accio snitch._ ” The snitch flew into his outstretched hand. Then, for good measure, he cast, “ _Muffliato_ ,” and everything outside was silenced.

Draco looked down at Harry with an amused look in his eyes, as though he could read Harry like an open book. “Don’t get any ideas, summoning doesn’t work on game snitches.” Then he leaned forward and kissed Harry breathless.

“As much as I like having you under me, we should eat. Now. Otherwise, I won’t be able to stop myself.” He rolled off and offered Harry his hand. He grasped it, enjoyed the softness of his smooth skin, and rose. Harry leaned in for another kiss, but Draco pulled away all too soon. “Let’s eat.”

***

“You came here earlier,” Harry said, eyeing the room.

Draco smiled. It was true. He’d made it to the ravine before Harry, set up their picnic and kept it warm under a Stasis Charm. Then, because he couldn’t resist showing off (at least where Harry was concerned) he’d vanished the fairy lights and charmed the canopy ceiling to resemble the night sky. He’d always loved the constellations on display in the Great Hall and he wanted to do something similar to Harry’s tent.

“Those are beautiful,” Harry said, pointing to the flowers in the vase at the center of the table.

“Birds of paradise, we grow them in the greenhouse at the manor. I had Bilby, my house-elf,” he explained when Harry gave him a confused look, “gather a few.” They were one of his favourite flowers and he thought Harry might enjoy them too. The bright orange and purple hues went beautifully with the blue and ivory table setting and the jewel tones within the tent.

“I’ve never seen them before. They’re incredible.” Harry sat down on a pillow, eyes transfixed on the bouquet. He seemed more confident today. Happier even. Draco couldn’t take his eyes off him.

Things were different now. Before Draco used to delight in making fun of Harry for not knowing proper wizarding etiquette and for being oblivious to the finer things in life. But now he relished the idea of being the one to expand Harry’s horizons and introduce him to new concepts and flavours. He wanted to see his reaction and he took a certain pride in the knowledge that he was the one to bring about each new experience. He wanted to be a part of all of Harry’s firsts.

Today he’d requested more complicated flavours to broaden Harry’s palette. He knew he liked the chicken and cranberry sandwiches so he’d asked Bilby for roasted pheasant canapés with black currant preserves. They’d served them at their last big party, before the Dark Lord came back, and he was sure Harry would love them. Bilby had also filled the picnic basket with goodies from her trip to the wizarding market at Montmartre: the creamiest cheeses, fresh baguette, jambon de Bayonne, duck pate, fresh figs, grapes and more preserves. She’d also included a few sandwiches just in case Harry didn’t like the new flavours. For their sweet tooth, there was an assortment of bite-sized treats: chocolate éclairs, mille-feuille and tarte tatin and a box of pistachio, raspberry and passionfruit macarons.

“This looks very fancy.” Harry seemed hesitant and unsure.

“Open up, try this,” Draco said and popped a canapé in his mouth. Harry closed his eyes as he chewed and looked entirely blissed out.

He wished he had asked for a bottle of Sancerre; it would have paired splendidly with the chèvre. Of course, Bilby had her _opinions_ on daytime drinking.

With Draco’s guidance they made their way through the assortment of foods. Bellies full, Harry and Draco reclined on the plush rug, cushions under their heads, hands entwined, staring up at the tent canopy.

“You’ll have to show me how you did this,” Harry said.

Draco flushed with pride. He had charmed the constellations so they were animated: Sagittarius turned and shot arrows, Cassiopeia gazed fondly into her mirror, and of course Draco, the Dragon, breathed fire. Draco chuckled at how he made the flames look like they actually singed the tent. He looked over and saw Harry worry his lip with his teeth, his expression wistful. He didn’t have to look up to know that Harry was watching Sirius, charmed to leap and chase after his tail.

Draco cleared his throat and when he spoke his voice was tender.

“You can tell me about him, you know?” He let go of Harry’s hand so he could roll to the side and prop himself up on one elbow. He looked over at Harry and tentatively placed his hand back on top of Harry’s. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to, but I’d listen if you did.”

There was a pause that went on a little too long for Draco’s comfort. He began to think that Harry didn’t want (or wasn’t able) to talk about it and he began to contemplate whether or not he should remove his hand – was he being too pushy? prying too much? making Harry uncomfortable? – when Harry interlaced their fingers and began to speak.

“He was my father’s oldest friend. I think they were more like brothers, actually. He was brave and loyal, almost to a fault,” Draco watched a small wry smile form on Harry’s lips, “but also reckless and impulsive. He went to avenge my parents' murder immediately and got himself chucked into Azkaban. But, he also broke out to keep me safe. That was just before third year.”

Draco couldn’t take his eyes off Harry as he poured out his soul.

“He was kind of like the dad I never had, except more like a big brother, if that makes any sense.” Harry looked over at Draco who simply nodded. “He was fiercely protective of me but without being restrictive or authoritative. Mostly. He stood up for me and treated me like an adult even when everyone else – Dumbledore, Mr. & Mrs. Weasely – wanted to keep me in the dark and treat me like a child.”

Harry looked back up to the ceiling and Draco wondered if it was easier for him to talk when he wasn’t looking at him. “He wanted me to live with him and I felt like I was finally going to have a family, just like I’d always wanted.” His breath hitched and Draco squeezed his hand. “But we all know how that turned out.” He took a few short and shallow breaths. A tear escaped and trailed down his cheek. Draco wiped it away and gently kissed his temple.

“Just listen to me.” Harry rolled his eyes and he looked like he was trying to compose himself.

Draco shifted closer to Harry and pulled him in for a hug. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to feel sad. If you want to keep talking I’ll keep listening.”

Harry took a few moments and then grinned mischievously.

“Sirius was an Animagus, unregistered of course.”

Draco smiled. “Of course he was. A stickler for rules, just like you.”

Harry smiled, “Like you’re any different. He was a big black dog, which of course was fitting. He and my dad were friends with Professor Lupin and they would transform to keep him company during the full moon.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “Your Dad was an Animagus too? That’s incredible.”

Harry beamed. “He was a stag.”

“Just like your Patronus.”

“Yeah, I was thinking of him the first time I ever cast one.”

Harry paused thoughtfully.

“What about you? Tell me about your Mom and Dad.”

Draco shifted his position to make his elbow more comfortable. “Well, Father has always worked a lot.” He gave Harry a knowing glance. “Yes, both family business and all the _other stuff_.” They both knew what the _other stuff_ was: Death Eater business. “So that left Mother and I alone together a lot of the time. She’s my mother and she loves me, wants the best for me – tough love and all – but she’s also been a co-conspirator of sorts.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I think she feels badly I never had any siblings, or many friends, to play with. Father is very traditional and has strict views on etiquette, how things should be done and how his heir should behave – proper of course. Mother, on the other hand, would be the one to help me build snow castles and we’d end up throwing snowballs at each other – ”

Harry interrupted. “I’m sorry, I’m having trouble reconciling your mother – prim, pureblood, proper – with the images of this thrilling madwoman who helped you break the rules and lobbed snowballs at you.”

Draco laughed. “I haven’t even gotten to the best part.” Harry made a gesture for him to carry on.

“After the snowball fight, Mother would take us to the kitchen, cast about a dozen Warming and Drying Charms over us, to indulge in the richest hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and cinnamon. With biscuits for dinner. All of course when Father was away.”

“I can’t imagine your father would be too happy with any of that. He comes off as …very severe.” Harry sighed. “We’ve had our moments. He’s never liked me very much.”

Draco knew the feeling was more than mutual. In fact, he was sure Harry hated his father like so many did. But, he appreciated Harry for not saying so. He loved his father and would do anything for him. It was true, though, that he didn’t really know him all that well. He could only know him as well as he allowed himself to be known, which wasn’t much at all through the mask he kept permanently in place. He did know that he would never approve of any relationship that involved Harry Potter. But that was a bridge he would cross later.

Draco snorted. “Father doesn’t like anyone. Well, aside from Mother and me but we’re the exception. Don’t take it personally.”

“Do your parents know,” he asked tentatively, “about, you know, your – ”

“My preferences?”

“Yes,” Harry said and cosied up beside him.

Draco looked at him thoughtfully before he replied. “No, I haven’t shared that with them. Yet. I think Mother might be all right with it, eventually at least, but Father…” The silence that hung in the air was heavy. Harry squeezed Draco’s hand.

“I don’t want to talk about my parents anymore.” Draco brushed a lock of hair out of Harry’s eyes. “In fact, I think we have done entirely enough talking.” He climbed onto Harry, drank in the gleam of his bright green eyes, and then leaned forward and kissed him. Harry’s lips parted, granted him entrance and he sighed as their tongues slid against each other.

He’d been so pleasantly surprised when Harry had used his given name and kissed him earlier. Harry, the boy he had watched for years but thought he could never have. He tasted like freedom and happiness and choices, all the things Draco currently lacked at home. He had never done so before, but he was sure in this moment he could cast a corporeal Patronus. If he could just keep coming here, immersing himself in Harry’s world and his kisses, then he could survive this summer despite everything else going on back at the Manor.

He smiled as Harry pushed up and rolled them over so that he was the one on top, pining Draco to the ground. It was bliss, the slide of Harry’s lips on his, their tongues duelling in the best way possible, Harry’s weight pressed into him, holding him down, grounding him.

Harry whispered against his lips, “Draco, I want your hands all over me.” It was a request he could not deny. He slid them down Harry’s back, kept going and gave his arse a firm squeeze while Harry plundered his mouth. Then, he slid them back up and under the hem of Harry’s shirt. His hands drank in the expanse of bare skin and he could hardly believe that he was allowed to touch.

Harry hummed into his mouth, “Your hands are so soft. I can’t get enough of them.”

“Good. Because I can’t stop touching you.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

Draco gently bit Harry’s lip and then grabbed him and rolled him so their positions were reversed. He slotted his thigh between Harry’s and began to press open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and down his throat. Harry sighed deeply and tipped his head to the side to give Draco easier access. Draco pulled the neck of Harry’s shirt to the side and sucked a bruise beneath his collarbone – Harry inhaled sharply – hidden because Draco didn’t want to cause any trouble for Harry with his poor excuse for a family, but he still wanted to mark him, claim him. Harry was finally his.

He worked his way back up, brushed his lips against Harry’s earlobe, relished the shiver he got in response. He kissed Harry hard on the lips, the fire between them burned brighter, hotter, grew in size and became all-consuming. He was painfully hard and when Harry bucked his hips he could tell he wasn’t the only one.

He ground his hips down against Harry’s earning a moan. The friction felt divine, sinful, and they kissed so deeply they devoured each other, satisfying another type of hunger.

“Draco, don’t stop,” Harry grunted, grabbing Draco’s arse and pulling him tighter as they rocked against each other.

“Never,” he whispered, surprised he could even form words. Pleasure coiled in his belly. He could feel Harry tense beneath him and then shudder as he groaned his release and Draco followed him over the edge, his breath coming in ragged bursts, feeling pulled apart, boneless, and completely amazed. This was real. This had actually just happened.

They lay together, unable and unwilling to move. “That was amazing,” Harry finally said, he sounded equally breathless. Draco smiled and reached for his wand. He whispered, “ _Tergeo_ ,” ridding them of all evidence of their activities, put his arms around Harry and pulled him close. He kissed his forehead and soon they fell asleep.

Whether it was minutes or hours he couldn’t be sure but he awoke to Harry running fingers through his hair and kissing his neck. He had no problem repeating their earlier activities and returned the kisses in earnest. As things became heated, Draco’s wand vibrated beside them. It increased in intensity the longer it was ignored and finally began to shoot off red sparks. Draco groaned and grabbed it.

“I don’t want to go,” he muttered and allowed himself to be pulled back into a kiss.

“Then stay,” Harry murmured between kisses.

“I wish I could but I have to get back before I’m missed. Mother expects me at dinner.” He pulled Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth, sucked it gently and released it with a small nip. “To be continued.” His eyes lingered on Harry’s, dark with lust, green barely visible. Merlin, he was beautiful.

They stood up and Draco muttered, “ _Finite Incantatem_.” His black button-down and khakis transformed into a pressed plum shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons and black dress pants, the trainers replaced with smart black oxfords. He pulled Harry to him, hugged him tightly and enjoyed the feel of Harry’s arms as he returned the embrace. He pulled back and gave Harry a chaste kiss.

Harry smiled, his hair even messier and his lips slightly swollen and wet from kissing. “Bye Draco.”

“See you tomorrow, Harry.”

Except he didn’t.

Or the next day.

Or the day after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤ Thank you for reading. Comments and kudos are always appreciated ❤


	4. Delusional

Bellatrix stood outside the door in the third floor hallway. She was blood. She could see it.

Her magic thrummed inside her, all around her. _Angry. Violent. Insane._ She tapped her heel on the hardwood floor – four times, five times, six times – and listened as the sound reverberated along the empty corridor. Amid the ordered chaos she gathered her thoughts.

She was right. There was never a doubt. She could feel Draco’s magic _now_ which meant he _was_ leaving his rooms. Where was he going? What was he doing? She intended to find out.

She knocked.

“Draco darling, it’s your Aunt Bella.”

He let her in.

Why wouldn’t he? She was his favourite aunt.

“How are your studies? You’ve spent an awful amount of time cooped up in here.” She strode past him, crossed the room and looked out the window at the vast expanse of the Malfoy gardens: angry gashes of reds and pinks, the occasional splattering of orange and purple. The door clicked. When she turned, he was standing by his desk.

“Very well. I’ve been researching the healing properties of refined Acromantula venom. It’s fascinating. On its own it’s deadly but when combined with Mandrake root there’s a possibility it could be a more effective cure for dragon pox than the current treatments.”

She narrowed her eyes and appraised him. “Potions? Draco darling, don’t you want something more? Nobody respects a healer; they’re servants. Chaos. Destruction. That’s where the real power is. Don’t you aspire to greatness?” She stepped forward and paused, tilted her head to the side.

“Of course I do, and you’re wrong. Potions are intricate and fascinating with magic that is not easily understood by all. Severus says I have a gift. He’s been tutoring me privately for years and – ”

Bellatrix cut him off with a shake of her head and one finger held high in the air. She couldn’t listen to any more of this drivel; it was boring and pointless. She sauntered forward until they were inches apart. He was terrified. She could feel the fear radiate from his slender frame and she drank it in. It was delicious.

“Draco dear, you’re such a pretty boy,” – she reached up and ran her thumb along the curve of his bottom lip – “such a pretty young thing. It’s such a waste, you cooped up in here. All that talent squandered. Your mother doesn’t understand, but I do. You should be out there,” – she made a grand, sweeping gesture with her arm – “with your father, with me. You like power, don’t you? Your father likes power. So do I. You could do great things. The Dark Lord will show you how.”

Draco’s face remained impassive but she could feel him tremble. All she had to do was push the right buttons.

Bellatrix was like a Basilisk. _Beautiful. Powerful. Deadly._

She held Draco with her gaze, knew he would be powerless to look away, while she reached into her pocket, thumbed her wand and silently cast _Legilimens!_

Much to her surprise, his shields were already in place. _Damn him._ Damn her sister too; she had clearly taught him well. So much for the element of surprise. Bellatrix explored, tried to prise her way around and in between the protective layers, but they shifted in response to her intrusion. Constant motion. Draco was skilled, she could not deny it. But he was clearly hiding something.

“Little Dragon, Little Dragon,” she cooed – she grabbed his jaw, her fingernails dug into his flesh – “what is going on inside that pretty little head of yours? It’s not polite to keep secrets from your Auntie.”

He gave her a half-smile, his movements impeded by her firm grasp.

“I have no secrets.”

“Lies!” she seethed and forcefully released his face. “You dare lie to me? I will find out. I will break you.”

Heart pounding, her magic a swirling maelstrom, blinded by rage – filled with it, consumed by it, unable to feel anything else – she raised her wand and cast.

_Crucio!_

***

“More. Over here,” Vernon commanded. “Boy, hurry up, earn your keep.”

Harry sighed and shook his head in disgust as he slathered more hydrocortisone cream over the welts on his uncle’s hairy back. He had already finished with Dudley and with the half dozen on Aunt Petunia. She had gotten off easy. He wasn’t really sure why it was necessary for him to apply the cream when they could easily do it themselves. Punishment, probably, although even they weren’t able to make a convincing argument to blame him for the ‘wasp’ attack. This should be the last time, though, the effects of the Stinging Jinx would most likely wear off by supper time.

Harry inspected himself in the mirror more carefully than he normally would have done. He ran his thumb over the bruise under his collarbone and admired it. It was a bruise he was proud of because it meant that someone, Draco, cared for him. Unlike all the other bruises he had ever sported that filled him with shame and showed him he was worthless. His eye was still purple, perhaps a shade or two lighter, and thanks to Draco it didn’t hurt.

He spent a few extra minutes in the shower and made sure he was very clean. Just in case. He picked his outfit with as much care as possible given his limited wardrobe selection.

“Hey, Freakshow, are you wearing my aftershave?” Dudley called out as Harry descended the stairs.

“Not on your life, Big D,” Harry replied and slipped out the door before anyone could stop him.

It wasn’t a big deal, Harry told himself later that night. It’s not like they had made plans or it was a guaranteed thing that Draco would come every day. He had said _see you tomorrow, Harry_ but it wasn’t a promise. Was it? Something probably came up. Crabbe and Goyle, or Pansy, may have paid him an unexpected visit. Or perhaps his mother wanted to check up on him and all the schoolwork he was supposed to be doing instead of sneaking off to see Harry.

It was just one day. He’ll be there tomorrow. Probably.

***

Harry flicked pebbles into the water, watched them sink, and forced himself to stop glancing around every few minutes. It was pathetic. A watched cauldron doesn’t boil. He listened as the water gurgled, flowed around and over the top of rocks, but what he really hoped to hear was the familiar crack of Apparition. It was impressive that Draco had mastered it so quickly and so early on. Harry wondered if and when he could do the same.

As the day went on, long after Harry had given up on Draco, after he had eaten the last of the leftover sandwiches he’d left behind, his anxiety began to grow. Voldemort was living in Malfoy Manor. Draco slept under the same roof as the madman. Was Draco hurt? Had something happened to him? Then, a horrible thought entered Harry’s mind. Despite the warm afternoon sun that beat down on him, a cold chill permeated his body. Goosebumps erupted everywhere.

He hadn’t had one of _those_ dreams in ages, not since the one that lured him to the Ministry of Magic, the one that resulted in Sirius’ death. But was it possible for Voldemort to access his mind without his knowledge? Had he somehow put Draco in danger? The food he’d eaten felt like a rock in his belly and he felt bile rise in his throat. He choked it back down and splashed water on his face. He hoped with everything he had that Draco was all right. He wished he had some way to find out for sure. It was too risky to send Hedwig and he would never ask Dobby to set foot in Malfoy Manor again. There was nothing for it; he would just have to wait. But waiting was not easy.

***

Harry was clearly an idiot. He snapped a twig in half and then did the same to another. Draco had only kissed him because he felt sorry for him. But even that wasn’t entirely true because Harry was the one to kiss him first which only made matters worse. Clearly Draco had only returned the kiss out of pity.

Draco was so well put together and his hair was so soft and shiny and Harry was so, well, Harry. He would have to be delusional to think Draco Malfoy was interested in him for reasons other than pity. Maybe this had all been some elaborate scheme set up so he could humiliate him later on during the school year?

Harry had never felt so stupid in all his life – and he lived with the Dursleys who called him _stupid_ every day, so that was saying something.

Narcissa Malfoy, clearly a very accomplished witch, had warded Draco’s room for his protection. Merlin’s beard, his father was a bloody Death Eater. Harry might not think much of Lucius Malfoy but he was pretty sure he would ensure no harm came to his son. He still needed an heir after all. There was no way Voldemort would ever lay a hand on Draco and live to tell the tale.

Harry snapped a few more twigs and then broke branches across his thigh. The more he thought about it the more foolish he felt. Draco was clearly staying away because of the kiss and everything else they did after. It had felt good to Harry, but perhaps that was because he didn’t know any better. He was probably a bad kisser. Cho had actually cried when he’d kissed her. It was a bad kiss and Draco wasn’t coming back. It happened in the heat of the moment and now Draco regretted it. The easiest and most obvious thing to do would be to pretend it didn’t happen. Things would go back to how they were and they would go back to being rivals once they returned to Hogwarts. This crazy, unexpected interlude – that had meant so much to Harry – had come to an end and would probably never be spoken of again. And that was fine. Really. It was.

Later, he caught two small fish. He built a campfire with the twigs and branches he had broken in frustration earlier and tried very hard not to think of his lighter as a _Muggle Incendio_. The roasted fish filled his belly but he didn’t taste a single bite.

***

The rain came down in sheets. It was most definitely not a day to be out of doors. So naturally, Harry was bundled up in his warmest hoodie, flat on his back, staring up at the enchanted canopy of the tent. Despite the chill and moisture in the air, it was much better than being stuck at home. Enclosed spaces with bored and disgruntled Dursleys was a combination that never worked in his favour.

He’d always loved the ceiling in the Great Hall and it felt nostalgic to stare up at this miniature version. He missed Hogwarts. He missed Draco. But he didn’t want to think about how things would be when they went back. He swallowed all his hurt feelings down like a bitter pill. The further down they stayed the better. He watched Sirius playfully wag his tail as he leapt and dug holes. He missed Sirius, the real one, and he always would. Nobody could ever take his place. But he did feel a bit better for having talked about it with Draco. He had been there for him; a solid presence when he needed one the most. Maybe that was the whole point of their summer interlude? It didn’t really have to mean anything or be long-lasting if it had helped him out of the dark place where he had been stuck.

He stared up at the dragon as it soared across the tent canopy and scorched the fabric with every breath. Maybe if he didn’t breathe at all it wouldn’t hurt so much?

After a minute he exhaled. It still hurt.

Harry heard a loud _crack_. Apparition. He looked over to the tent door.

“Draco.” His voice sounded less sure than he wished and probably gave away his disbelief that this was real and not some bizarre fever dream or wishful thinking.

Draco was drenched. He was still handsome but looked like a drowned Kneazle. Why hadn’t he used an Impervius Charm?

“I didn’t know if you would be here, given the weather,” he said, voice calm and steady. As if nothing was wrong, as if he hadn’t been inexplicably gone for nearly four days. He started to walk forward but stumbled. Harry was up on his feet and by his side in seconds. They moved to the cushions, Draco leaned on Harry for support and sat down. Draco cast a Drying Charm which Harry insisted he follow with multiple Warming Charms. It became clear that something was wrong. Draco still shook but not from the cold weather.

“You’ve been Cruciated,” Harry said. It was not a question. Harry had experienced it once himself and he recognised the telltale tremors that lingered.

“It was Aunt Bella,” he admitted. “She doesn’t know about us, but she could tell I was hiding something.”

He used the word _us_. Harry’s heart beat faster.

“She tried to use Legilimency and when that didn’t work she attempted to break into my mind with the Cruciatus Curse.”

“Draco, that’s horrible.”

“I’m all right.”

“You bloody well are not. Come here.” Draco started to move and winced. Harry reached out a hand, stilled him and then moved closer on the plush rug. Harry massaged his arms, worked into the muscles, gently at first and then pushed deeper.

“Feels nice, but what are you doing?” Draco said, his voice sounded breathy and relaxed.

“I’m giving you a massage. Hermione did that for me after Voldemort hit me with the Cruciatus Curse.”

“Fourth year,” he added when Draco gave him a confused look.

Harry continued to work up and down each arm, working deeper into the soft tissue with each pass and then he moved around to sit behind Draco. He kneaded his shoulders, working out the tension, and continued up along his neck to the muscles under his jaw. Massaging Draco made Harry feel better. The solid presence in front kept him anchored, a consistent reassurance that Draco was fine (well, relatively fine) and relatively unharmed. But then again, the concept of _fine_ was relative in itself. Relatively speaking, he was _fine_ at the Dursleys. Just the same as how Draco was _fine_ living under the same roof as Voldemort and Bellatrix. They weren’t actually _fine_ at all, were they?

Guilt gnawed at Harry. For the past three days he had been at war with his own emotions and, aside from a few hours of worry, he’d been oblivious to Draco’s plight. Of course he was kept away because he was in trouble. Was Harry that insecure? Although, it was easy to misconstrue his absence. Harry felt peaceful with Draco in his arms again. But he also felt pain – Draco’s pain. He wished he could take it all away so he didn’t have to feel it anymore. He didn’t want Draco to ever have to endure that kind of pain again.

When Harry had finished working out the tension in Draco’s back he wrapped his arms around him and Draco sank back into the embrace. He let out a contented sigh and whispered, “Thank you.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Aunt Bella,” he started – Harry winced at the name but tried to hide it by squeezing Draco tighter – “suspects I’m up to something, but she doesn’t know what. She doesn’t know about us.”

There was that word again. _Us._ Harry’s heart fluttered every time Draco used the word to refer to the two of them. Together.

“But not for any lack of trying. She’s a very skilled Legilimens, however, Mother is equally matched in Occlumency and has spent years teaching me. Aunt Bella couldn’t get past my shields and, because I wouldn’t let her in, she knew I had something to hide. Needless to say, she did not take well to that. She tried to break into my mind by force.” He inhaled and then exhaled slowly before he continued. “It was the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life, Harry. It felt like my head was going to split in two and everything was electrified, as though my veins were filled with lightning.”

“Oh Draco,” Harry shifted a bit to the right so he could see Draco’s face better and kept him firmly in his arms.

“I knew I couldn’t let her see you and I thought of everything but you. Mother eventually found us and made her stop.” Draco chuckled, but it sounded more dejected than merry. “She’s not too pleased with her sister right now. She would have kicked her out of the Manor and changed the wards if she were in charge, but that’s not possible now. Mother has very little say about who comes and goes.” Harry tucked a strand of hair behind Draco’s ear. “She stayed by my side for days, took care of me and kept guard in case Aunt Bella decided to pay a return visit. That’s why I couldn’t leave. The Dark Lord sent Bella off on a special mission last night so Mother relaxed her vigil. That’s the only reason I could risk coming today.”

“I was so worried when you didn’t come,” Harry admitted. It was the truth, perhaps not the whole truth, but he would never admit to being plagued by self-doubt.

“I knew you would be, but I couldn’t risk sending an owl.”

Harry kissed his cheek and then placed a trail of kisses along his jaw. Draco leaned his head back against Harry’s shoulder and sighed. His cheek felt wet and after a moment Harry realised why – tears.

“Harry, I need you,” Draco breathed, then turned his head and brought his lips gently to Harry’s. “I need you so much.”

Harry manoeuvred himself so that he was facing Draco and held him close. “I’m here for you. I’m always going to be here for you.” He used his thumbs to wipe away Draco’s tears, then kissed him on the forehead and then the nose. “I missed you so much,” Harry said against Draco’s soft lips. Draco leaned slightly, closed the small fraction of distance, and pressed his lips to Harry’s.

Their kiss was heated, ravenous, but also tender, full of emotion and words unspoken.

“Touch me,” Draco commanded. Harry ran his hands down Draco’s back, along his sides and up his chest. Draco took his hands in his and guided them down. “I meant, touch me here.”

Harry swallowed. Merlin, he wanted to. But after everything that had happened, Draco’s current state, was it the right thing to do?

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I want to feel something else. I want you to distract me. I don’t want to think about the last couple of days. I just want to be here, with you, right now.”

“Distract you?” Harry questioned, but started to work on Draco’s belt, hands trembling as though he was the one who had been recently Cruciated.

Draco nibbled Harry’s lips. “You’re my favourite distraction.” He helped Harry open his trousers.

Harry took a deep breath. He could do this. He wanted to do this. He’d never done it before but he wanted Draco and wanted to make it good for him.

“Have you ever?” he whispered.

“Only a few times. You?”

“Not with anyone else.”

He bit his lip, gathered up his Gryffindor courage, pulled down the waistband of Draco’s pants and wrapped his hand around his fully hardened cock. Draco’s body may have been cold and shaky but his cock was not similarly affected. It was hot to the touch and silky smooth. Harry swirled his thumb over the tip – Draco shuddered in response – and smeared precome along his shaft.

The angle was different but it was almost like stroking himself, well, minus the sensation part.

“Is this good?”

“So good.” Draco closed his eyes and sighed and Harry couldn’t help but press a kiss to those soft, pink lips.

He spat into his hand and continued his ministrations, swiping his thumb across the top every few strokes, just like he did for himself.

“Yes,” Draco breathed, and then kissed Harry’s neck. He lingered and his breathing became more erratic. Harry’s cock twitched in response. He groaned and Harry could feel him shudder as his cock pulsed and spilled his release across Harry’s hand and onto his trousers. Harry held him, kissed him gently, and when his breath slowed and returned to normal, Draco cleaned them both up with a spell.

“Your turn,” he said matter-of-factly as he reached for Harry’s belt.

“You don’t have to. Your hands are still shaking.”

“But I want to, as long as you do.” Harry nodded and Draco busied himself opening Harry’s trousers. Harry gasped when Draco’s hand closed around his cock and gave him a firm stroke upward. Draco whispered a wandless spell and his hand was coated in lube.

“Show off,” Harry whispered, then his hips thrust forward involuntarily as Draco gave him another firm stroke. Where Harry was timid but determined, Draco was confident and clearly more experienced. But after a few more strokes Harry could tell Draco’s muscles were still shaky and tense. The massage had helped however time would be the ultimate healer. But, rather than stop him, Harry clasped his own hand around Draco’s to stabilise him. Together, lips joined, they stroked him to completion. Harry gasped into Draco’s mouth as he climaxed and their hands slowed as he tensed and rode through the aftershocks.

“Wow.” It was an understatement and yet conveyed everything. Draco whispered another spell and Harry tucked himself away.

He put his arms around Draco and pulled him tight against his chest. He didn’t want to ever let go. They sat together, blissed out, and listened to the rain pelt down above. Lightning flashed in the sky and Draco flinched. Harry ran his hands up and down Draco’s arms and squeezed tighter. The insecurities that had surfaced over the past few days felt far away. They were together and everything was peaceful and perfect.

Until Draco spoke.

“Mother wants me to focus on my studies, which of course is what I want too, but Aunt Bella has other ideas. She’s not satisfied that I remain hidden behind the scenes. She wants me to align myself with the Dark Lord. She wants me to become a Death Eater, Harry.”

All post-coital relaxation evaporated. Nothing killed the mood faster than the words _Dark Lord_ and _Death Eater_.

“You can’t go back there,” Harry stated. “It’s not safe.”

Draco snorted. “What am I supposed to do? Stay here forever?”

Harry shrugged. “Why not? Yes.”

Draco looked into Harry’s eyes with a curious expression. “I have to go back, Harry, it’s where I live. They’re my family. It will be all right.”

“None of this is okay,” Harry said.

“Mother and Father will stand by me. They know how I feel and they won’t force me. It’s only Aunt Bella and as long as she doesn’t get me alone everything will be all right.”

Harry’s voice shook. “It’s not all right, Draco. She tortured you. You’re still shaking. She killed Sirius. I’ve seen her, how she is, she’s relentless. She’ll stop at nothing to get what she wants and we both know your mother can’t keep watch over you at all times. What if she gets to you? It’s too dangerous and you’re too important.”

“I have to go back, Harry. I have a duty to stand with my family. But I promise to be careful.”

“I only just got you back.” Harry couldn’t believe it. This was madness. “No, you can’t go. I don’t want you to get hurt again, or worse.”

Draco stroked Harry’s cheek, right where the bruise had all but faded away. “Believe me, I understand. It kills me to see you get hurt, but I respect that you have your reasons for staying. I’m asking you to do the same and respect mine.”

But it wasn’t the same. Not in the slightest. The Dursleys may be evil but they were restricted to words and what they could get away with via Dudley’s fists and feet. They couldn’t use magic. They couldn’t use Unforgivables.

“Draco, it’s not the same thing and you know it. I’m begging you, don’t do this. It’s not safe.” Harry became more frantic. Every person he had ever cared about – his parents, Sirius – had been killed by Voldemort and his followers. He didn’t want to lose Draco too. He trembled.

Draco sighed. “I shouldn’t have to explain this but I need to be there for Mother. I haven’t seen Father since the Easter holidays and I need to be there when he returns. They’re my family, I don’t expect you to understand – ”

“You’re right,” Harry snapped, “how could I possibly understand? I don’t have a family. All mine are dead.” He was yelling now, unable to control the torrent of words that escaped his mouth. “All killed by the man _your_ Father has aligned himself with. And by _your_ Aunt.” He emphasized the word ‘ _your’_. It was a low blow, Harry knew none of this was Draco’s fault any more than the war was, but he couldn’t stop himself and the words continued to spill out. “They’ve hurt you too and yet you defend them and pretend like nothing is wrong and everything is perfectly normal.”

“It’s not normal, Harry,” he spat, “you of all people know this with how your Muggles treat you. But as you once said, this is war and we all have our part to play.”

Everything was getting twisted around just like it always did and Harry couldn’t think straight. Why were they fighting again? Moments ago they were kissing and comforting each other and getting each other off. Now they were duelling, even if it was with words instead of fists or wands. But words could cut as deeply as any curse.

“What if Bellatrix gets to you? And what about your father?”

“Leave Father out of this!”

“He’s a Death Eater, Draco. Maybe it runs in the family. Will you become one? Would that make you happy? Will you come after me then? For the Dark Lord? Or will I still be your _distraction_? Your dirty little secret?”

As soon as the words left his mouth Harry knew he had gone too far. Anger flashed in Draco’s eyes but Harry could also see the hurt as well, now that he knew how to read him. Draco scrambled to his feet and Harry quickly rose as well.

“I see,” said Draco stiffly, “It’s nice to know you think so highly of me.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said softly, choking on his own breath. “Draco, wait – ”

He reached out for Draco’s shoulder but it was too late. His hand closed on empty air.

Draco had Disapparated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤ Thank you so much for reading. ❤ Comments and Kudos are love. ❤


	5. Wait Until Dark

Harry arrived home in darkness, a drenched and shivering mess. He removed his shoes and socks, squeezed out the hem of his trousers and made his way upstairs without incident. The Dursleys had long since finished dinner and were watching a documentary about the sinking of the Titanic at full volume. He closed his bedroom door and didn’t bother with the light. He tossed his wet clothing onto the floor in a heap – each item landed with a _thwak_ – and pulled on pyjama bottoms. The fabric clung to his damp legs and his wet hair sent cold droplets down his bare back.

He sat at the desk, in darkness, save for the occasional fork of lightning and the strip of hallway light that glowed under the door. His body was overwhelmed, forced to contain too many warring emotions. _Anger. Hurt. Betrayal. Loss. Shame. Sadness._ The combination threatened combustion. The contents of his room – a chest of drawers, the bed, the desk covered in papers and a few random cups – began to rattle and vibrate. The lights flickered on and off, and then stayed on, as his magic – pent up and unused – pulsed and hammered violently throughout his body and all around him. He could smell ozone in the air. From him? From the storm? Who could tell? They were one and the same.

It had been a while since he’d lost control and he was no longer the little boy who had accidentally set a boa constrictor loose on his cousin. With a history of accidental – and on-purpose – underage magic that grew longer every year, he didn’t want to give the Ministry any more ammunition against him. They wouldn’t care if it was accidental or even justifiable. He would be done for. He wasn’t kidding when he told Malfoy he was on his last strike.

“Fuck!” 

With one firm swipe, he shoved everything from his desk onto the floor. _Crash. Tinkle._ A mug and a jar fractured into tiny pieces while papers fluttered to the ground. He sucked in a breath and experienced a moment of pure delight. Hedwig gave him a reproachful glance and a scornful hoot before she flew out into the storm. The downpour, thunder and lightning were nothing compared to Harry in a temper.

Harry wished he could cast _Reparo_ so he could take pleasure in breaking things over and over again. Instead, he trudged over to the chest of drawers and kicked it hard. _Bam._

“Goddamn it!” 

Pain shot through his foot and reminded him he wasn’t wearing his trainers. But it also felt good. He kicked again. _Bam._ More pain. He slammed his fist down on top. _Boom._ What the fuck had just happened? It was a question he had asked repeatedly in the hours since Draco left. He slammed his fist down again. _Boom._ The pain was exquisite. He only wanted to protect Draco. Instead, they had fought and he had driven him away. He took a drawer out – it stuck and he had to shimmy it back and forth to slide it out – the clothing spilt at his feet and he threw it against the closet. _Crash-thud._ The drawer hit the closet door and fell to the ground. He did the same to the next one but with more force. _CRASH-THUD._ He bent over for the final drawer, grunted as he pushed clothing aside to make room, yanked it out, wound up and released. _Crash-clatter._ It hit the door and fell down onto the other two drawers.

He knew he was making a lot of noise and for once he didn’t care. Fuck the Dursleys. Fuck Dumbledore. Fuck Voldemort. And, seriously, fuck this _thing_ with Draco. He was tired of being quiet. Tired of shrinking down, trying to take up as little space as possible as though he could will himself back into the tiny cupboard that had been his home for his first eleven years. He no longer wanted to walk on eggshells and pretend he didn’t exist in this house.

He expected his uncle to arrive at any moment, his face scrunched-up and beet-red, voice booming as he expressed his disappointment and let him know he would pay for this later.

Maybe the telly was so loud they didn’t hear him?

That hope was instantly dashed. The silence that followed was downright scary.

Nothing good ever came from silence.

***

The next morning, after he’d put his room to rights, Harry set to work making breakfast. Maybe if he carried on with his morning routine the Dursleys would do the same and last night would be forgotten. He busied himself separating strips of bacon. One dropped to the floor and as he bent down Dudley slammed him against the kitchen worktop. It wasn’t a quick slam. He pinned him, ground him against the laminate, and in that moment Harry was grateful Vernon had been too cheap to spring for granite. Pain exploded through his ribcage and he gasped.

“Don’t think Mum and Dad didn’t notice your little tantrum last night,” he hissed. His breath reeked of pickled herring. “Do that again and you’ll wish you’d never been born. Consider yourself warned.” He stomped on Harry’s foot as he left the kitchen.

Tears stung Harry’s eyes. He barely registered the burn of his toes over the agony that dominated his right side. He felt like he’d been pounded by two Bludgers at once. He winced as he tried to breathe. Everything hurt.

Last night was stupid. Emotions were stupid. He shouldn’t have let them get the best of him. Again.

***

Two days passed. He did his chores. Slowly. He grunted whenever he had to lift anything or bend down. Intermittently he iced his ribs with a bag of frozen peas. He slept. A lot. Propped up on pillows. He tried his best to shove away all thoughts of Draco.

While in the bathroom he took off his shirt. His entire right side was now a very unhappy inky purple – _regal purple_ , a posh voice drawled in his head. He growled and turned away from the mirror.

They say a hot shower is the universal cure-all: heat to soothe aches and pains and water to wash away misery. But Harry had far too much of both. He stood there, motionless, while the water pulsed and the steam grew thick. He fought back tears. He could lie to himself and say it was because of his injury, but he knew it wasn’t true.

Somehow this was worse than Draco’s first absence. Then he had been insecure and it was easy to believe that everything they shared wasn’t real; just a cruel fantasy. This time he _knew_ and the knowledge was bone-deep.

Harry knew he wasn’t good with his feelings but he was sure about this: he was in love with Draco Malfoy. The realisation only brought anguish. There was no one else like him. He knew his feelings were real and that Draco had felt it too. They could have been happy. Should have been happy.

So was it irony then? That the first time Harry was sure of his feelings he’d gone and spectacularly cocked it all up? Draco was gone. For good. There was no way to take it back.

But he didn’t see how it could have played out differently either. _Why yes, Draco, I fully support your desire to return to your murderous aunt, morally vacant father and the snake-faced psychopath living under your roof; even though it may lead to your imminent destruction._

Harry supposed it was unwise to fall for someone so enmeshed on the opposite side of a war that felt inevitable. Draco couldn’t help it. Family was family and he was loyal to his. Harry understood that even if it pained him.

Harry laid on his bed that night, arranged his stack of pillows carefully, and imagined he was staring up at Draco’s enchanted ceiling. It was an impressive piece of spellwork. He imagined the constellations as they moved – Sirius wagged his tail, Taurus stomped and charged, and Draco the Dragon soared through the sky and breathed fire.

He thought of the real Draco, a beautiful juxtaposition: fire that burned and ice with sharp edges.

Harry sighed. Sleep came late and was restless.

***

It happened to be the day before his birthday, not that the Dursleys would notice or plan anything special. Walking was a little easier now so he made his way down to the ravine. The journey took three times as long with his slower, laboured steps.

The ravine was his special place but it was hard to be there now. He looked around. The river glistened in the sun and his eyes were drawn to the spot where Draco had first held and comforted him. The boulders were still arranged were they’d had the campfire, where he’d taught Draco about Muggle lighters and chemistry and later when Draco had brought that wonderful picnic. Downstream he could see where they had skipped stones and shared their first kiss. Then there was the tent, so altered from its original form. It was no longer his tent, it was _their_ tent. Every part of the ravine was filled with Draco. But it didn’t matter anymore. This was the last time he would see it.

He thought about Ron and Hermione, so far away from Harry and his problems. He didn’t blame them, though. Not really. He hoped they were laughing and having fun.

_Don’t do anything rash or reckless._

He could hear Hermione’s voice in his mind and shook his head. He wasn’t being rash, he’d thought of little else. It wasn’t reckless to take charge of one’s life, it was assertive. He was tired of playing the game.

“Chosen One,” he scoffed. _Chosen Fuck-Up, more like_. People put him up on a pedestal like he could do no wrong but the truth was he caused pain. He didn’t know what he was doing most of the time and wouldn’t have gotten as far as he had without Hermione and Ron. They were the true Chosen Ones; he was dead weight.

Cedric Diggory – dead, because of him. If he hadn’t been so noble and suggested they take the cup together Cedric would still be alive. _Kill the spare_. Green light flashed behind his eyelids.

He’d fallen into fake-Moody’s trap with the Triwizard tournament and now Voldemort had risen courtesy of his blood. That was on him. He could argue it was his fault too that Voldemort was living at Malfoy Manor and Draco was in danger.

Sirius – Harry had been lured to the Ministry, had fallen for Voldemort’s trick, Sirius had followed and was consequently killed. But he no longer blamed himself. Long nights rid him of that burden. That one was on Dumbledore. If he had so much as spoken to Harry all year, told him about his mind connection with Voldemort, then maybe he would have stood a chance and wouldn’t have been so easily played. Sirius would still be alive.

He was tired of being Dumbledore’s pawn. Used, but not trusted.

Dumbledore knew what happened to Harry when he was at home with the Dursleys. But he turned a blind eye because it served his purpose. Harry had to remain with them because that’s what Dumbledore needed.

_He knows, doesn’t he? That bastard._

Well, Harry was done with it all. He had decided. As a birthday present to himself, he was getting the fuck out of there. The Order and the Light Side would carry on without him – in fact, they would be better off without him, and he would be too. He wouldn’t be able to use magic, not without being tracked, but it would only be for a year.

He would live in Sirius’ cave near Hogsmeade. His godfather had lived off rats and he could do the same. It was a small price to pay for freedom and choices. Autonomy. And if he happened to wander into Hogsmeade, under the folds of his invisibility cloak, and happened to catch a glimpse of white-blond hair, well, then all the better.

He would wait until nightfall, pack a bag – just the essentials – and head out. It would be a long flight to Hogsmeade, but the rush of wind in his hair, broom between his legs, would be welcome and he had nothing but time.

A shadow moved at the river’s edge.

“You’re thinking so loud I can almost hear you over here.”

Harry looked up at the hooded form of Draco Malfoy: his platinum locks peaked out from beneath his travelling cloak, illuminated by the setting sun, a bag casually slung over his shoulder.

“Draco.” Harry stood up. He barely registered the pain in his side. Was this a trick of the light? Some figment of his imagination? Wishful thinking? He stepped closer, hoped to prove that this was indeed real, and stared into intense silver eyes.

“Father came home,” he started.

“I know you’ve missed him,” Harry said. “Look, I’m sorry – ”

“Don’t,” Draco shook his head. Harry didn’t protest. He desperately wanted to apologise and take back everything he had said. He wanted to express everything he felt even though it was too much to say with words. But he could see Draco really needed to talk. He could wait.

“He agreed, you see, with Aunt Bella, that it’s time for me to take the Mark and bring honour to the family name.”

Harry couldn’t read his expression. Was this goodbye then? Were they to be torn apart? Were their futures to be dictated by circumstances beyond their control; pitted against one another on opposite sides of a war neither wanted?

“Oh,” was all Harry could say and it sounded so feeble and inconsequential, but it was all he could manage. He felt unbalanced, like the ground had opened up beneath him and was ready to swallow him whole.

“I’m supposed to get a special assignment; they need someone inside Hogwarts.”

Was he coming to warn Harry? Was that what this was? Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from Draco, his heart thudded in his ears.

“There’s a ceremony all set for tomorrow night. That’s when I’m to get the Mark. I hear it hurts, a lot, but I’m not supposed to make a sound.” His voice sounded flat and matter-of-fact.

“What are you going to do, Draco?” Harry’s heart raced and his palms were sweaty. This wasn’t right but there was nothing he could do to stop it. His skin crawled.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m not a killer, Potter. I want no part of this, you know that. I’ve packed my things. I’m doing it. I’m leaving.”

Harry took a step closer, and then another, until they were within reach. He trembled.

“I’m going with you.”

Draco’s mouth quirked up at one corner.

“I know,” he said softly.

He brought his hand up and brushed the hair away from Harry’s eyes. He kissed his forehead and then pulled Harry tightly against him. Harry winced but Draco didn’t seem to notice and Harry couldn’t care less about his ribs right now. The impossible had just happened and it was everything.

“We’ll wait until dark and then go collect your belongings.”

Harry nodded.

“I have something for you.”

Harry pulled back, surprised, not sure what to expect. Draco pulled a cuff from the pocket of his robes. It was almost identical to the one he wore but the dragon hide was darker.

Harry’s eyes opened wide. “I thought you said these are really rare?”

“They are. This one was Mother’s.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked. He couldn’t believe that Draco would give him something so valuable and so personal. Draco fastened the cuff onto Harry’s wrist and he felt a cool rush wash over him.

“Positive.” He tipped Harry’s chin up and placed a tender kiss on his lips. “Let’s go and get started on the tent.”

***

(Earlier)

Draco sat on his bed and added a few more of his shrunken belongings to the bag. He’d charmed it to the maximum with Lightening and Extension Charms. Was he doing the right thing? It seemed selfish. Was it possible for something so selfish to be the right thing? He shrunk a few more books and added them to the bag. Everything would change and there would be no turning back. How would Harry react? Would he even be happy to see him after everything? There was only one way to find out.

The door creaked and he looked up.

“Mother,” he exclaimed, his chest suddenly felt tight. “I was just – ”

Narcissa waved off his concern and crossed the room. She stood beside him, regal and composed, stationary except for the slightest twitch of her index finger. It was her only tell. She was as uneasy as he was. She pointed to the bag. “I was coming to suggest you do the same.” She exhaled. “Don’t worry about us. I’ll take care of your father, make sure he doesn’t get in too deep.”

Draco swallowed, his mouth felt thick and dry.

“Perhaps I should stay?”

She put her arms around him and kissed the top of his head.

“You know that’s no longer an option.”

She pulled back and handed him a heavy pouch.

“They’ll keep watch of your Gringotts account so don’t use it. This should sustain you for a while if you’re careful.”

He nodded and gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“I have something else for you as well.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a _furtivus cuff_ , just like the one his father had given him. “This is for your _companion._ ” She placed it in his hand. “If it’s who I think it is, he’s going to need it.”

Draco froze, his eyes were fixed on Narcissa. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t look so surprised, darling,” she said. There was a twinkle in her eye.

“A mother always knows.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤❤ Thank you all so much for reading. Thank you for leaving comments and kudos, they make my day. ❤❤
> 
> Let me tell you, I'm very excited about Part Two. I've written a good chunk of the first draft already and I'm very pleased with where the story is headed. I still have a lot of work to do before it's ready to be posted but I can share a few details with you.
> 
> The second part of this story will be a bit longer and a bit saucier. There will be glamping (would you expect anything less with Draco?), conversations with the dead, opinionated house-elves, and a group of determined Death Eaters hot on their trail. 
> 
> Be sure to subscribe to the [Old Magic Series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831858) to be notified when Part Two is ready.
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://mystickitten42.tumblr.com/).


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